In England

In England there are wrongs, no doubt,     Which should be righted; so men say,     Who seek to weed earth's garden out     And give the roses right of way.     Yes, right of way to fruit and rose,     Where now but poison ivy grows.     In England there is wide unrest     They tell me, who should know.    And yet     I saw but hedges gaily dressed,     And eyes, where love and kindness met.     Yes, love and kindness, met and made     Soft sunshine, even in the shade.     In England there are haunting things     Which follow one to other lands;     Like some pervading scent that clings     To laces, touched by vanished hands.     Yes, touched by vanished hands, that gave     A fragrance which defies the grave.     In England, centuries of art     Give common things a mellow tone,     And wake old memories in the heart     Of other lives the soul has known.     Yes, other lives in some past age     Start forth from canvas, or from page.     In England there are simple joys     The modern world has left all sweet;     In London's heart are nooks, where noise     Has entered but with slippered feet;     Yes, entered softly.         Friend, believe,     To part from England is to grieve.