William Watson


England and Her Colonies


SHE stands, a thousand-wintered tree, 
  By countless morns impearled; 
Her broad roots coil beneath the sea, 
  Her branches sweep the world; 
Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed,         
  Clothe the remotest strand 
With forests from her scatterings made, 
New nations fostered in her shade, 
  And linking land with land. 
 
O ye by wandering tempest sown         
  íNeath every alien star, 
Forget not whence the breath was blown 
  That wafted you afar! 
For ye are still her ancient seed 
  On younger soil let falló         
Children of Britainís island-breed, 
To whom the Mother in her need 
  Perchance may one day call.






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