Nay! but our own dear land thou shalt not hold, Lord Christ. Thou hast thy white-walled Eastern town, And thine own endless worshipful renown, And heaven's own sunlit heights, and towers of gold.— Not thine the English wild furze-yellowed wold; Not thine the breeze that sweeps green hill and down; Not thine the roses that our gardens crown; Not thine our sea-winds ululant and bold. Rest where thou art, lest thou shouldst have a fall.— The storm is in our spirits, and the sea; The skies' grim armies hearken at our call, And the grey mountain-vapours round us flee, And murmurous ocean girds us like a wall. We are content. We have no need of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VALLEY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 4 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH ORA PRO NOBIS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH COLUMBUS, THE DISCOVERER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE HILLS by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN A PROEM (TO ARTHUR RACHMAN'S EDITION 'ALICE IN WONDERLAND') by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |