Poems (Hardy)/On a photograph of school children
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ON A PHOTOGRAPH OF
SCHOOL CHILDREN
SCHOOL CHILDREN
THEY say we praise too much this lyric land,
Its bloomy plains, its mountains bold and high;
With orient phrase and metaphor, we dye
Its golden rivers and its wave-warm strand;
There where our homes, by sea-winds faintly fanned,
'Mid lucent-clustered vines and orchards lie,
We dwell, complacent that no other sky
Rounds its blue dome above a clime so grand.
Is this a grievous fault, if it be true,
To love our land? But never let them say
O bright expectant throng, sun-pictured here,
That Nature showers in vain her gifts on you.
Lo, with these splendors you may match your day,
And greaten all the glory of the year.
Its bloomy plains, its mountains bold and high;
With orient phrase and metaphor, we dye
Its golden rivers and its wave-warm strand;
There where our homes, by sea-winds faintly fanned,
'Mid lucent-clustered vines and orchards lie,
We dwell, complacent that no other sky
Rounds its blue dome above a clime so grand.
Is this a grievous fault, if it be true,
To love our land? But never let them say
O bright expectant throng, sun-pictured here,
That Nature showers in vain her gifts on you.
Lo, with these splendors you may match your day,
And greaten all the glory of the year.