John Galsworthy

Nor wind not cloud but an eternal sporing
Dwells on Olympus: so he came not there
But sough an English heaven, that cloud so fair
Might march alternate o’er his wanderings
And thus by heavenly streams meandering
He hears an English thrust in English air:
He knows soft midnight in a London square
Or hears her mighty traffic roar.

For he was England! Thames shall faint and fill
While Soames and Fleur and Jolyon grow no old,
But speak and love their England, as they will
For children’s children while his tales are told,
And while an English heart may cherish still
The apple tree, the singing and the gold.