Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1061

 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

855 England, My England

WHAT have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do,

England, my own ? With your glorious eyes austere, As the Lord were walking near, Whispering terrible things and dear As the Song on your bugles blown,

England Round the world on your bugles blown '

Where shall the watchful sun,

England, my England, Match the master-work you've done,

England, my own ? When shall he rejoice agen Such a breed of mighty men As come forward, one to ten,

To the Song on your bugles blown, England

Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,

England, my England. 'Take and break us we are yours,

England, my own' Life is good, and joy runs high Between English earth and sky: Death is death; but we shall die

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