O England, thou hast many a precious dower; But of all treasures it is thine to claim, Prize most the memory of each sainted name, That in thy realm, in field or hall or bower Hath wrought high deeds or utter'd words of power- Unselfish warrior, without fear or blame- Statesman, with sleepless watch and steadfast aim Holding his country's helm in perilous hour- Poet, whose heart is with us to this day Embalm'd in song-or Priest, who by the ark Of faith stood firm in troublous times and dark. Call them not dead, my England! such as they Not were, but are; within us each survives, And lives an endless life in others' lives. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 12 by EZRA POUND UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD HASTINGS by JOHN DRYDEN DUNCTON HILL by HILAIRE BELLOC THE STREET LAMP by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 4. TERTIUM QUID by ROBERT BROWNING |