Nay! but our own dear land thou shalt not hold, Lord Christ. Thou hast thy white-walled Eastern town, And thine own endless worshipful renown, And heaven's own sunlit heights, and towers of gold.— Not thine the English wild furze-yellowed wold; Not thine the breeze that sweeps green hill and down; Not thine the roses that our gardens crown; Not thine our sea-winds ululant and bold. Rest where thou art, lest thou shouldst have a fall.— The storm is in our spirits, and the sea; The skies' grim armies hearken at our call, And the grey mountain-vapours round us flee, And murmurous ocean girds us like a wall. We are content. We have no need of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENGLAND AND AMERICA: 1. ON A RHINE STEAMER by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FAREWELL TO CYNTHIA by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MEARY'S SMILE by WILLIAM BARNES THE FEAST OF THE GODS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE BOHEMIANS OF BOSTON AND THEIR WAYS; A MEMORY OF THE JACOBEAN CRAZE by FRANK GELETT BURGESS |