O THAT I were Where breaks the pure cold light On English hills, And pewits rising cry, And gray is all the sky. Or at evening there When the faint slow light stays, And far below Sleeps the last lingering sound, And night leans all round. O then, O there 'Tis English haunted ground. The diligent stars Creep out, watch, and smile; The wise moon lingers awhile. For surely there Heroic shapes are moving, Visible thoughts, Passions, things divine, Clear beneath clear star-shine. O that I were Again on English hills, Seeing between Laborious villages Her cool dark loveliness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KATHMANDU GUEST HOUSE by KAREN SWENSON TO NATURE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS by FRANCIS HOPKINSON MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 9 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ALFRED THE HARPER by JOHN STERLING (1806-1844) THE BALLAD OF CHICKAMAUGA [SEPTEMBER 19-20, 1863] by JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON |