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...THE VIRTUOSO; IN IMITATION OF SPENCER'S STYLE AND STANZA by MARK AKENSIDE THE VOYAGE by CAROLINE ATHERTON BRIGGS MASON PASSING AWAY by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI EASTER DAY [IN ROME] by OSCAR WILDE TO HIMSELF; AN ODE by ANACREON THE SONG OF THE LIGHT-HEARTED by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |