Our Country Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

O England, merry England!
The whole wide world can show
No land so sweet as England
Where'er the four winds blow.
Fair scenes of rural England
How sweet to English eye
The stretch of wide brown fallow,
The dome of wide free sky
Where the lark pours forth, rejoicing,
His carol long and loud;
Hanging, a sunlit shadow,
'Mid windy wings of cloud.
The sweep of English uplands,
the sigh of English trees,
The laugh of English rivers,
Or breath of English breeze;
The scent of purple clover
Off English meadows blown-
These, these to me are dearest,
For they are England's own.
Others, in search of beauty,
May roam o'er land and sea;
But the land, the land of England,
Our own dear isle for me.