Poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Sonnet (I envy not the traveller's delight)

I envy not the traveller's delight,
When he looks on Italia's loveliness,
Or the Swiss mountains rise before his sight;
The view to me would be but loneliness,
Remembering me that I was far away
(Like to a leaf, borne from its natural spray)
From my own dwelling. It does seem most strange,
What happiness it can be thus to range:
Let others roam this world of wonders through—
Theirs be each beauty of the earth and sea;
The flower gemm'd green, the narrow arch of blue,
Around my home, will be enough for me.
I cannot envy him, whose footsteps rove
At distance from the dear ones of his love. 

1. Portrait
2. To Sir John Doyle, Bart
3. The Tournament
4. Amelioration and the Future, Man's Noble Tasks
5. Age and Youth

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