In England

Where the rivers gleam beneath the brush,
And green of every kind does hush
The heart that beats within the air;
Where strength of miles watches fair.

In England, sings the golden hour;
Where spirits of soil bend forth in power.
Let the oaks draw branches tall,
For in their shade, the shadows fall.

And of every single lingering path,
Where dreams are housed, born with love’s wrath;
Every stream spread high and low—
To where the gentlest geese go.

• Edward Thomas