My thoughts go back to your treasury,
Dwelling a little, wistfully content
Among remembered beauties, and I see
All your enchantments, marvellously blent.
Spring flowers huddling under friendly trees,
And close-mown lawns and sleeping bastions,
Wide, coloured wolds and quiet villages,
And summer nights with distant undertones,
Children at play, taken in glad surprise,
And modest lovers and their shy caress,
And beautiful, true women’s peaceful eyes—
O England, richly stored with loveliness!
You send your sons to strive for humankind;
Proudly I go-and leave my heart behind.