HAPPY is England! I could be content To see no other verdure than its own; To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent: Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment For skies Italian, and an inward groan To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, And half forget what world or worldling meant. Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; Enough their simple loveliness for me, Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging: Yet do I often warmly burn to see Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, And float with them about the summer waters. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LISTENERS by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE HIPPOPOTAMUS by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT THE HILL WIFE: HOUSE FEAR by ROBERT FROST DORIS; A PASTORAL by ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY THE PASSOVER IN THE HOLY FAMILY (FOR A DRAWING) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |