Now upon English soil I soon shall stand, Homeward from climes that fancy deems more fair; And well I know that there will greet me there No soft foam fawning upon smiling strand, No scent of orange-groves, no zephyrs bland, But Amazonian March, with breast half bare And sleety arrows whistling through the air, Will be my welcome from that burly land. Yet he who boasts his birthplace yonder lies, Owns in his heart a mood akin to scorn For sensuous slopes that bask 'neath Southern skies, Teeming with wine and prodigal of corn, And, gazing through the mist with misty eyes, Blesses the brave bleak land where he was born. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND: 2 by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON AN OLD MUFF by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON IT IS FINISHED' by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A SONG TO DAVID by CHRISTOPHER SMART PHAENOMENA: WHEN JUSTICE DWELT ON EARTH by ARATUS LA MORT D'ARTHUR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN WILD WEATHER by KATHARINE LEE BATES |