Speaking of England
- Richard Mather
- Jan 30
- 1 min read
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 tale conspire
To forge one poem from consubstantial fire —
Fire from Milton, fire from Blake,
The burning heat of Shakespeare’s breath,
The hearth of Wordsworth’s steadfast wake
That warms him even after death.
And if a child grows father to the man,
He’ll take up Albion’s song as best he can,
And breathe its fire, weak or strong,
In every season his whole life long.
