Classic Poem

Happy who like Ulysses, or that lord
That raped the fleece; returning full and sage,
With usage and the world's wide reason stored,
With his own kin can wait the end of age.
When shall I see, when shall I see, God knows!
My little village smoke; or pass the door,
The old dear door of that unhappy house,
That is to me a kingdom and much more?

Mightier to me the house my fathers made,
Than your audacious heads, O Halls of Rome;
More than immortal marbles undecayed,
The thin sad slates that cover up my home;
More than your Tiber is my Loire to me,
Than Palatine my little Lyré there;
And more than all the winds of all the sea,
The quiet kindness of the Angevin air.