Sacred England, stagnant pool, Haunt of every knave and fool: We thy humble servants pray That thou be thus for alway. Gold alone maintains thy might, Not vain justice, foolish right: Gold alone feeds fading lust Ere it falls to rot and dust. Gold with hands both white and black, Wrung from many a wretched back; We now lay before thy feet, Moral England, fat and sweet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOUSE HUNTING by ISAAC ROSENBERG DISCIPLINE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE BALLADE OF THE GOLDEN HORN by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) ECLOGUE: THE COMMON A-TOOK IN by WILLIAM BARNES WRITTEN ON WHITSUN-MONDAY, 1795 by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS THE WET WOODS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |