Dear fellow-Traveller! here we are once more.
The Cock that crows, the Smoke that curls, that sound
Of Bells, those Boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleev'd shirts are playing by the score,
And even this little River's gentle roar,
All, all are English. Oft have I look'd round
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free
My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see,
With such a dear Companion at my side.
Design, coding, and editing: Copyright © 1997 by James M. Garrett. All rights reserved.