WHERE'ER I roam in this fair English land, The vision of a Temple meets my eyes: Modest without; within, all-glorious rise Its love-encluster'd columns, and expand Their slender arms. Like olive-plants they stand Each answ'ring each, in home's soft sympathies, Sisters and brothers. At the altar sighs Parental fondness, and with anxious hand Tenders its offering of young vows and prayers. The same, and not the same, go where I will, The vision beams! ten thousand shrines, all one. Dear fertile soil! what foreign culture bears Such fruit? And I through distant climes may run My weary round, yet miss thy likeness still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 15 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ULTIMATION by MAGDELEN EDEN BOYLE TO LORD THURLOW by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EPISTLE FROM ALGIERS (TO HORACE SMITH) by THOMAS CAMPBELL EPILOGUE TO A PLAY BEFORE THE KING AND QUEEN ... AT WHITEHALL by THOMAS CAREW SAINT MACARIUS OF THE DESERT by PHOEBE CARY BLANK MISGIVINGS OF A CREATURE MOVING ABOUT IN WORLDS NOT REALIZED: 8 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |