Home Thoughts, from Abroad
1.
Oh, to be in England now that April’s there,And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware,That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheafRound the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,While the chaffinch sings on the orchard boughIn England—now!And after April, when May followsAnd the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedgeLeans to the field and scatters on the clover 10Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—That’s the wise thrush: he sings each song twice overLest you should think he never could recaptureThe first fine careless rapture!And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,And will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children’s dower—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
Home Thoughts, from the Sea.
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the north-west died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest north-east distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; “Here and here did England help me,—how can I help England?”—say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.