Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In England

In England, there are wrongs no doubt,
    Which should be righted; so men say,
Who seek to weed earth's garden out,
    And give the roses right of way;
Yes, right of way, to fruit and rose,
Where now but poison ivy grows.

In England, there is wide unrest,
    They tell me who should know; and yet
I saw but hedges, gayly dressed,
    And eyes where love and kindness met;
Yes, love and kindness, met and made
Soft sunshine even in the shade.

In England, there are haunting things
    Which follow one to other lands;
Like some pervading scent that clings
    To laces touched by vanished hands;
Yes, touched by vanished hands, which made
A fragrance that defies the grave.

In England, centuries of art
    Give common things a mellow tone;
And wake old memories in the heart
    Of other lives the soul has known;
Yes, other lives in some past age
Start forth from canvas, and from page.

In England, there are simple joys,
    The modern world has left all sweet;
In London's heart, are nooks where noise
    Has entered but with slippered feet;
Yes, entered softly.  Friend, believe,
To part from England is to grieve.

1. Behold the Earth
2. The Birth of the Orchid
3. The Black Charger
4. All the World
5. At Set of Sun

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