Treasure Island

Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Home Thoughts, From Abroad


Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Daphne Grant (3/20/2006 3:27:00 PM)

    I love this poem along with many other people. It has a true essence and love of England as it was in the old days, an England of leafy lanes of afternoon tea and church bells and cricket on Sunday in the fields. It is so memorable. It has a nice Rhythum of a slower pace than modern music will allow the soul to find. Ah the peace of Browning's England be forever writ apon the page! Enjoy for the modern pace will seldom allow such joyous capture again. (Report) Reply

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