To Switzerland, the land of lakes and snow, And ancient freedom of ancestral type, And modern innkeepers, who cringe and bow, And venal echoes, and Pans paid to pipe! See, I am come. And here in vineyards, ripe With sweet white grapes, I will sit down and read Once more the loves of Rousseau, till I wipe My eyes in tenderness for names long dead. This is the birthplace of all sentiment, The fount of modern tears. These hills in me Stir what still lives of fancy reverent For Mother Nature. Here Time's minstrelsy Awoke, some century since, one sunny morn, To find Earth fortunate, and Man forlorn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY SENSES DO NOT DECEIVE ME by MARIANNE MOORE A CARELESS HEART by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO RICH GIVERS by WALT WHITMAN TIME'S REVENGE by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS THE UNSCARRED FIGHTER REMEMBERS FRANCE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING A MOTHER'S SONG by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE SECOND SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE LORDS' MASQUE: SONG by THOMAS CAMPION BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'BUT THAT NE'ER TROUBLES ME, BOYS' by PATRICK CAREY |