Classic Poem

This is the England, this the earth,
That gave majestic Milton birth;
This is the olden golden clime
Of lofty prose, of lilting rhyme;
Here Poesy's pure soul was won
By the sweet strains of Tennyson;
For him her eyes knew no eclipse,
And he might kiss her lyric lips;
This is great England; here was wrought
The noblest monument of thought
That man e'er builded up to God
Out of his bosom's sacred sod,
For this the soil, and this the clime,
That gave a Shakespeare to all time.