To Charles Furse

Bright Hellas lies far hence, Far the Sicilian sea: But England's excellence Is fair enough for me.

I love and understand One joy: with staff and scrip To walk a wild west land, The winds my fellowship.

For all the winds will blow, Across a lonely face, Rough wisdom, good to know: An high and heartening grace.

Wind, on the open down! Riding the wind, the moon: From town to country town, I go from noon to noon.

Cities of ancient spires, Glorious against high noon; August at sunset fires; Austere beneath the moon.

Old, rain-washed, red-roofed streets, Fresh with the soft South-west: Where dreaming memory meets Brave men long since at rest.

Evening, from out the green Wet boughs of clustered lime. Pours fragrance rich and keen, Balming the stilly time.

Old ramparts, gray and stern; But comely clothed upon With wealth of moss and fern, And scarlet snapdragon.

Harbours of swaying masts, Beneath the vesper star: Each high-swung lantern casts A quivering ray afar.

From round the ancient quay, Ring songs with rough refrains: Strong music of the sea, Chaunted in lusty strains.

Freshness of early spray, Blown on me off the sea: Morning breaks chilly gray, And storm is like to be.

A cliff of rent, black rock, About whose stern height flies The wrangling sea-gull flock, With querulous, thin cries.

The sea-gulls' wrangling cry Around the black cliff rings: I watch them wheel and fly, A snowstorm of white wings.

With savoury blossoms graced, A craggy, rusted height: Where thrift and samphire taste The sea and wind and light.

A light prow plunges: red, Red as the ruddy sand, The tall sail fills: well sped, The fair boat leaves the land.

I wander with delight Among the great sea gales: Exulting in their might, They thunder through the vales.

Cries of the North-west wind, Crying from roseless lands: From countries cold and blind, Hard seas and unsunned strands.

A dark forest, where freeze My very dreams: gaunt rows Rise up, the forest trees; Black, from a waste of snows.

Long, fragrant pine tree bands, Behind whose black, straight ranks The dusky red sun stands, On clouds in purple banks.

In tree-tops the worn gale Hangs, weakened to a sigh: The rooks with sunrise hail From out the tree-tops fly.

A deep wood, where the air Hangs in a stilly trance: While on rich fernbanks fair The sunlights flash and dance.

I hear the woodland folks, Each well-swung axe's blow: And boughs of mighty oaks, Murmuring to and fro.

My step fills, as I go, Shy rabbits with quick fears: I see the sunlight glow Red through their startled ears.

Mild, red-brown April woods. When spring is in the air: And a soft spirit broods In patience, everywhere.

Primroses fill the fields, And birds' light matin cries: The lingering darkness yields, Before the sun's uprise.

Deep meadows, white with dew, Where faeries well may dance; Or the quaint fawnskin crew, Play in a red moon's glance.

Quivering poplar trees, Silvered upon the wind: In watermeads and leas, With silver streams entwined.

Waters in alder shade, Where green lights break and gleam Betwixt my fingers, laid Upon the rippling stream.

In merry prime of June, Birds sun themselves and sing: Mine heart beats to the tune; The world is on the wing.

The sun, golden and strong, Leaps: and in flying choirs The birds make morning song, Across the morning fires.

Old gardens, where long hours But find me happier, Beside the misty flowers Of purple lavender.

Heaped with a sweet hay load, Curved, yellow waggons pass Slow down the high-hedged road; I watch them from the grass:

A pleasant village noise Breaks the still air: and all The summer spirit joys, Before the first leaves fall.

Red wreckage of the rose, Over a gusty lawn: While in the orchard close, Fruits redden to their dawn.

September's wintering air, When fruits and flowers have fled From mountain valleys bare, Save rowan berries red.

These joys, and such as these, Are England's and are mine: Within the English seas, My days have been divine.

Oh! Hellas lies far hence, Far the blue Sicel sea: But England's excellence Is more than they to me.