  Now I return to my own land and people, Old familiar things so to recover, Hedgerows and little lanes and meadows, The friendliness of my own land and people. I have seen a world-frieze of glowing orange, Palms painted black on the satin horizon, Palm-trees in the dusk and the silence standing Straight and still against a background of orange; A gorgeous magical pomp of light and colour, A dream-world, a sparkling gem in the sunlight, The minarets and domes of an Eastern city; And in the midst of all the pomp of colour My heart cried out for my own land and people; My heart cried out for the lush meadows of England, The hedgerows and little lanes of England, And for the faces of my own people. |
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