HAPPY is England! I could be content To see no other verdure than its own; To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent: Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment For skies Italian, and an inward groan To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, And half forget what world or worldling meant. Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; Enough their simple loveliness for me, Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging: Yet do I often warmly burn to see Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, And float with them about the summer waters. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VOICES OF THE NIGHT: PRELUDE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 74. ST. LUKE THE PAINTER (OLD & NEW ART) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI PRAIRIE MUSIC by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER THE PIONEER by HENRY MEADE BLAND HOW LONG? by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR PILGRIM MOTHERS by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: THIRD ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |