While men pay reverence to mighty things, <br />They must revere thee, thou blue-cinctured isle <br />Of England-not to-day, but this long while <br />In front of nations, Mother of great kings, <br />Soldiers, and poets. Round thee the sea flings <br />His steel-bright arm, and shields thee from the guile <br />And hurt of France. Secure, with august smile, <br />Thou sittest, and the East its tribute brings. <br />Some say thy old-time power is on the wane, <br />Thy moon of grandeur, filled, contracts at length- <br />They see it darkening down from less to less. <br />Let but a hostile hand make threat again, <br />And they shall see thee in thy ancient strength, <br />Each iron sinew quivering, lioness!<br /><br />Thomas Bailey Aldrich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/england-4/
