To take to fields far off, a land's salute
Of high and vast repute,—
The Shakespeare-land of every heart's desire,
Whereof, 'tis said, the fame shall not expire,
But shine in all men's thoughts as shines a beacon-fire.
II.
O bright and gracious things that seem to glow
With frills of winter snow,
And little golden heads that know the sun,
And seasons half begun,