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William Wordsworth - Composed In The Valley Near Dover, On The Day Of Landing
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HERE, on our native soil, we breathe once more.
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;--
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round
With joy in Kent`s green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free,                  
My Country! and `tis joy enough and pride
For one hour`s perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see,
With such a dear Companion at my side.
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