Happy is England! I could be content <br />To see no other verdure than its own; <br />To feel no other breezes than are blown <br />Through its tall woods with high romances blent; <br />Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment <br />For skies Italian, and an inward groan <br />To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, <br />And half forget what world or worldling meant. <br />Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; <br />Enough their simple loveliness for me, <br />Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging; <br />Yet do I often warmly burn to see <br />Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, <br />And float with them about the summer waters.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/happy-is-england-i-could-be-content/
