THE SOLDIER SPEAKS
Reading edition
Within my heart I safely keep, England, what things are yours: Your clouds, and cloud-like flocks of sheep That drift o’er windy moors. Possessing naught, I proudly hold Great hills and little gay Hill-towns set black on sunrise-gold At breaking of the day. Though unto me you be austere And loveless, darling land; Though you be cold and hard, my dear, And will not understand. Yet have I fought and bled for you, And, by that self-same sign, Still must I love you, yearn to you, England—how truly mine!