| Yes, I have bask'd in sunny lands, |
| And heard the southern accents sweet, |
| Where summer with her lavish hands, |
| Casts all her treasures at our feet. |
| 5 I've gazed on palaces and shrines, |
| Which mine own land can show me not; |
| On golden orange groves, and vines -- |
| Yet, England, thou wert not forgot. |
| I've gazed on marble forms all rife |
| 10 With genius, such as sometimes start |
| From out the poet's dream to life, |
| To glorify the sculptor's art. |
| Yet not blue skies, nor seas as blue, |
| Nor moonlight emulating day, |
| 15 Though robed in tints of rainbow hue |
| Could charm me, when from home away. |
| My heart for English faces sigh'd, |
| For English accents pined in vain, |
| Till when I press'd thy strand, and cried, |
| 20 "Dear England, thou are mine again!" |
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