SHE stands, a thousand-wintered tree, <br /> By countless morns impearled; <br />Her broad roots coil beneath the sea, <br /> Her branches sweep the world; <br />Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed, <br /> Clothe the remotest strand <br />With forests from her scatterings made, <br />New nations fostered in her shade, <br /> And linking land with land. <br /> <br />O ye by wandering tempest sown <br /> ’Neath every alien star, <br />Forget not whence the breath was blown <br /> That wafted you afar! <br />For ye are still her ancient seed <br /> On younger soil let fall— <br />Children of Britain’s island-breed, <br />To whom the Mother in her need <br /> Perchance may one day call.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/england-and-her-colonies/
