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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392163" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To England</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>THERE was a time when all thy sons were proud<br>To speak thy name,<br>England, when Europe echoed back aloud<br>Thy fearless fame:<br>When Spain reeled shattered helpless from thy guns<br>And splendid ire,<br>When from Canadian snows to Indian suns<br>Pitt's soul was fire.<br>O that in days like these were, fair and free<br>From shame and scorn,<br>Fate had allowed, benignly, pityingly<br>That I was born!<br>O that, if struck, then struck with glorious wounds,<br>I bore apart<br>(Not torn with fangs of leprous coward hounds)<br>My bleeding heart!<br>II<br>We hate You — not because of cruel deeds<br>Staining a glorious effort. They who live<br>Learn in this earth to give and to forgive,<br>Where heart and soul are noble and fate's needs<br>Imperious: No, nor yet that cruel seeds<br>Of power and wrong you've sown alternative,<br>We hate You, we your sons who yet believe<br>That truth and justice are not empty creeds!<br>No, but because of greed and garbled pay,<br>Wages of sin and death: because you smother<br>Your conscience, making cursèd all the day.<br>Bible in one hand, bludgeon in the other,<br>Cain-like you come upon and slay your brother,<br>And, kneeling down, thank God for it, and pray!<br>III<br>I whom you fed with shame and starved with woe,<br>I wheel above You,<br>Your fatal vulture, for I hate You so,<br>I almost love You!<br>I smell your ruin out. I light and croak<br>My sombre lore,<br>As swaggering You go by, O 'heart of oak'<br>Rotten to the core!<br>Look westward! Ireland's vengeful eyes are cast<br>On freedom won.<br>Look eastward! India stirs from sleep at last.<br>You are undone!<br>Look southward, where Australia hears your voice,<br>And turns away!<br>O brutal Hypocrite, she makes her choice<br>With the rising day!<br>Foul Esau, you who sold your high birthright<br>For gilded mud,<br>Who did the wrong and, priestlike, called it right,<br>And swindled God! —<br>The hour is gone of insult, pain and patience;<br>The hour is come<br>When they arise, the faithful mightier Nations,<br>To drag you down!<br>IV<br>England, the land I loved<br>With passionate pride,<br>For hate of whom I live<br>Who for love had died,<br>Can I, while shines the sun,<br>That hour regain<br>When I again may come to you<br>And love again?<br>No, not while that Flag<br>Of greed and lust<br>Flaunts in the air, untaught<br>To drag the dust! —<br>Never, till expiant,<br>I see You kneel,<br>And, brandished, gleams aloft<br>The foeman's steel!<br>Ah, then to speed, and laugh,<br>As my heart caught the knife<br>'Mother, I love you! Here,<br>Here is my life!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+William+Lauderdale+Adams">Francis William Lauderdale Adams</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392163" data-title="To England de Francis William Lauderdale Adams" data-description="I
THERE was a time when all thy sons were proud
To speak thy name,
England, when Europe echoed back aloud
Thy fearless fame:
When Spain reeled shattered helpless from thy guns
And splendid ire,
When from Canadian snows to Indian suns
Pitt's soul w..."></div>
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