Methought I lived in the icy times forlorn; And, with a fond forecasting love and pride, I hung o'er frozen England: - 'When,' I cried, 'When will the island or our hopes be born? When will our fields be seen, our church-bells heard? And Avon, Doon, and Tweed break forth in song? This blank unstoried ice be warm'd and stirr'd And Thames, and Clyde, and Humber roll along To a free sea-board? airs of paradise Instal our summer and our flowery springs, And lift the larks, and land the nightingales? And this wild alien unfamiliar Wales Melt home among her harps? and vernal skies Thaw out old Dover for the houseless kings?' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENT ON DEATH by FRANCOIS VILLON EARTH'S ANSWER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE CONTENTMENT, AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY FRANCE: AN ODE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE HOLY SCRIPTURES (1) by GEORGE HERBERT THE BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES by FRANCOIS VILLON AUTUMN WOODS by ANNA M. ACKERMANN |