Speaking of England Who dares speak of England unless he has first swallowed a coal from Albion’s fire? It is the world above our sight, The visible in sovereign light, Set ever against the world below Where shadows come and spirits go. It is the land that Albion won, A giant, Neptune’s wandering son; He held the realm for his own fame And gave to poetry his own name. It is the words the dead bequeath, Rhyming couplets between their teeth; A land where time and