Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ENGLAND, by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ENGLAND, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Land of my father's love, my father's race
Last Line: England! I shall not see thee ere I die!
Subject(s): England; English


LAND of my father's love, my father's race,
How long must I in weary exile sigh
To meet thee, O my empress, face to face,
And kiss thy radiant robes before I die?

O England! in my creed, the humblest dust
Beside thy haunted shores and shadowy streams,
Is touched by memories and by thoughts august,
By golden histories and majestic dreams.

O England! to my mood thy lowliest flower
Feeds on the smiles of some transcendent sky;
Thy frailest fern-leaf shrines a spell of power!
Ah! shall I walk thy woodlands ere I die?

Thy sacred places, where dead heroes rest
By temples set in ivy-twilight deep;
Thy fragrant fields topped by the sky-lark's crest;
Thy hidden waters breathing balms of sleep:

Thy castled homes, and granges veiled afar
In antique dells; thy ruins hoar and high;
Thy mountain tarns, each like a glittering star,
Shall I behold their marvels ere I die?

Thine opulent towns, throned o'er the subject-main,
Girt by brave fleets, their weary canvas furled,
Deep-laden argosies through storm and strain,
Borne from the utmost boundaries of the world

O'er all, thy London! every stone with breath
Indued to question, counsel, or reply;
City of mightiest life and mightiest death,
Shall I behold thy splendors ere I die?

But most I yearn, in body as heart, to bow
Before our England's poets, strong and wise,
Watch some grand thought uplift the laureate's brow,
And flash or fade in Swinburne's fiery eyes.

And other glorious minstrels would I greet
Bound to my life by many a rhythmic tie,
When shall I hear their welcomes frankly sweet,
And clasp those cordial hands, before I die?

Fair blow the breezes; high are sail and steam;
Soon must I mark brave England's brightening lea;
Fulfilled at length, the large and lustrous dream
Which lured me long across the summer sea!

Alas! a moment's triumph! -- false as vain!
O'er dreary hills the gaunt pines moan and sigh;
Pale grows my dream, pierced through by bodeful pain;
England! I shall not see thee ere I die!





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