My own dear country--thy remembrance comes <br />Like softly--flowing music on my heart; <br />With thy green sunny hills, and happy homes, <br />And cots rose--bowered, bosomed in dells apart; <br />The merry pealings of our village bells <br />Gush ever and anon upon mine ear; <br />And is there not a far--off sound that tells <br />Of many--voicèd laughter shrill and clear? <br />Oh! were I now with thee--to sit and play <br />Under the hawthorn on the slope o' th' hill, <br />As I was wont to do; or pluck all day <br />The cowslip and the flaunting daffodil, <br />Till shepherds whistled homeward, and the West <br />Folded the large sun in her crimson breast.<br /><br />Henry Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-written-at-a-distance-from-home/
