Though half my heart be Greek, and Venus fill My soul with rapture of her face and wings, Yet this grey misty land my spirit sings Not less,—yea, every English green-browed hill And white-plumed golden-watered dancing rill:— Each daffodilly yellowing our springs Round me a robe of blossom-witchery flings; Each English rose of my soul hath her will. Our blossoms crown me, and our rain-dark skies Are dear,—and London, wherein I was born, Is more than Athens fervent with the morn:— Our turrets strike the clouds in statelier wise Than those that towards the cloudless blue air rise, Based on the blue seas of the Golden Horn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR [MARCH 9, 1862] by GEORGE M. BAKER SHAMEFUL DEATH by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) SONNET: 53 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE END OF THE SUNSET TRAIL by ALMA C. BINGHAM PRELUDE TO FAITH by MARJORIE MERRILL BLISS BEFORE AND AFTER by OLIVER MADOX BROWN |