ENGLAND IN MEMORY
(Sonnet)
Sweet Motherland, what have I done for thee,
What suffered, what of lasting beauty made?
I who ungratefully and undismayed
Drank from thy breast the milk which nourished me
In childhood, which until my death must be
The life within my veins. Lo, from that shade
Wherein they rest, thy dead and mine, arrayed
In honour’s robes, come clear and plaintively
Voices for ever to my listening ear