Happy Is England

John Keats(1795–1821)

The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1816

Happy is England! I could be contentTo see no other verdure than its own;To feel no other breezes than are blownThrough its tall woods with high romances blent:Yet do I sometimes feel a languishmentFor skies Italian, and an inward groanTo sit upon an Alp as on a throne,And half forget what world or worldling meant.Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;Enough their simple loveliness for me,Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging:Yet do I often warmly burn to seeBeauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing,And float with them about the summer waters.

From The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats (1816), via the English Wikisource transcription.

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