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WintersuN
June 5th, 2015, 10:57 PM
The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die -
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold -
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand -
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.

-Dorothea Mackellar

This poem wasn't written by me, but it's a perfect encapsulation of Australia that I find incredibly beautiful.

fairmaiden
June 6th, 2015, 12:46 PM
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown.

Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the song on your bugles blown,
England -
To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They shall call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could not know nor dread nor ease
Were the song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chose daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

ok well I live in the city and I don't really visit the countryside that often so I can't really relate to the poem as much

oshawott
June 7th, 2015, 07:49 AM
scotland is dear to me
you will always find me by the sea.

Microcosm
June 7th, 2015, 08:59 PM
America, America,
God shed his grace on thee
and crowned thy good
with brotherhood
from sea
to shining sea!

I really love this song and this is just a part of it, but this part is really poetic and creative.