At last, oh England, comes the day

when you defy those that fly away.

And every virtue far estranged

is in your home-fields rearranged.

Your sun, like African gold fresh opened

to vaults the realm of azure Titan,

that winding white of Tuscan hills

leads back round English daffodils.

The orchard white as Arctic drifts

Nay more like Dover's royal cliffs

and slack'ning Zephyrs but amplify

enchanting birds swift to oblige.

And with the mown, sun-shuttered turf

comes clarity - hence is winter burst,

and coupling all around the land

rehearses human love recrowned.

What mirror can I be of she

who sets the mirror down for me,

but still, ere springing fancy flees,

will her and me among the trees.

#Poetry #Spring #England #CreativeWriting #Nature