I love thy moss-deep grasses, thy great untortured trees,
The cliffs that wall thy havens, the weed-scents of thy seas.
The dreamy river reaches, the quiet English homes,
The milky path of sorrel down which the springtide comes.
Oh land so loved through length of years, so tended and caressed,
The land that never stranger wronged nor foeman dared to waste,
Remember those thou speedest forth round all the world to be
Thy witness to the nations, thy warders on the sea!
And keep for those who leave thee and find no better place,
The olden smile of welcome, the unchanged mother face!
Sir Rennell Rodd.
WATSON
CVIII
ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES
She stands, a thousand wintered tree,
By countless morns impearled;
Her broad roots coil beneath the sea,
Her branches sweep the world;
Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed,
Clothe the remotest strand
With forests from her scatterings made,
New nations fostered in her shade,
And linking land with land.