From tangled brake and trellised bower <br />Bring every bud that blows, <br />But never will you find the flower <br />To match an English rose. <br />It blooms with more than city grace, <br />Though rustic and apart; <br />It has a smile upon its face, <br />And a dewdrop in its heart. <br /> <br />Though wide the goodly world around <br />Your fancy may have strayed, <br />Where was the woman ever found <br />To match an English maid? <br />At work she smiles, through play she sings, <br />She doubts not nor denies; <br />She'll cling to you as woodbine clings, <br />And love you till she dies. <br /> <br />If you would put it to the proof, <br />Then round the zodiac roam; <br />But never will you find the roof <br />To match an English home. <br />You hear the sound of children's feet <br />Still pattering on the stair: <br />'Tis made by loving labour sweet, <br />And sanctified by prayer. <br /> <br />Go traverse tracts sublime or sweet, <br />Snow-peak or scorched ravine, <br />But where will you the landscape meet <br />To match an English scene? <br />The hamlet hallowed by its spire, <br />The wildwood fresh with flowers, <br />Garden and croft and thorp and byre <br />Gleaming through silvery showers. <br /> <br />Across the wave, along the wind, <br />Flutter and plough your way, <br />But where will you a Sceptre find <br />To match the English Sway? <br />Its conscience holds the world in awe <br />With blessing or with ban; <br />Its Freedom guards the Reign of Law, <br />And majesty of Man!<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-praise-of-england/
