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The Englishman and Other Poems   By: (1850-1919)

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Preface the Queen's last ride The Englishman Canada The Call Coronation Poem and Prayer Two Voices A Ballade of the Unborn Dead The Truth Teller Just You Reflection Songs of Love and the Sea Acquaintance In India's Dreamy Land Rangoon Thoughts on leaving Japan On seeing the Diabutsu at Kamakura, Japan The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart East and West The Squanderer Compensations Song of the Rail Always at Sea The Suitors The Jealous Gods God Rules Alway The Cure The Forecast Little Girls Science The Earth The Muse and the Poet The Spinster Brotherhood The Tavern of Last Times The Two Ages If I Were Warned Forward In England Karma The Gossips Together Petition A Waft of Perfume The Plough Go Plant a Tree Pain's Purpose Memory's Mansion Old Rhythm and Rhyme All in a Coach and Four Songs of a Country Home Worthy the name of "Sir Knight"


(Written on the day of Queen Victoria's funeral)

The Queen is taking a drive to day, They have hung with purple the carriage way, They have dressed with purple the royal track Where the Queen goes forth and never comes back.

Let no man labour as she goes by On her last appearance to mortal eye; With heads uncovered let all men wait For the Queen to pass in her regal state. Army and Navy shall lead the way For that wonderful coach of the Queen's to day.

Kings and Princes and Lords of the land Shall ride behind her, a humble band; And over the city and over the world Shall the Flags of all Nations be half mast furled, For the silent lady of royal birth Who is riding away from the Courts of earth, Riding away from the world's unrest To a mystical goal, on a secret quest.

Though in royal splendour she drives through town, Her robes are simple, she wears no crown: And yet she wears one, for widowed no more, She is crowned with the love that has gone before, And crowned with the love she has left behind In the hidden depths of each mourner's mind.

Bow low your heads lift your hearts on high The Queen in silence is driving by!


Born in the flesh, and bred in the bone, Some of us harbour still A New World pride: and we flaunt or hide The Spirit of Bunker Hill. We claim our place, as a separate race, Or a self created clan; Till there comes a day when we like to say, 'We are kin of the Englishman.'

For under the front that seems so cold, And the voice that is wont to storm, We are certain to find, a big, broad mind And a heart that is soft and warm. And he carries his woes in a lordly way, As only the great souls can: And it makes us glad when in truth we say, We are kin of the Englishman.'

He slams his door in the face of the world, If he thinks the world too bold. He will even curse; but he opens his purse To the poor, and the sick, and the old. He is slow in giving to woman the vote, And slow to put up her fan; But he gives her room in the hour of doom, And dies like an Englishman.


England, father and mother in one, Look on your stalwart son. Sturdy and strong, with the valour of youth, Where is another so lusty? Coated and mailed, with the armour of truth, Where is another so trusty? Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone, He is yours alone.

England, father and mother in one, See the wealth of your son. Forests primeval, and virginal sod, Wheat fields golden and splendid: Riches of nature and opulent God For the use of his children intended. A courage that dares, and a hope that endures, And a soul all yours.

England, father and mother in one, Hear the cry of your son. Little cares he for the glories of earth Lying around and above him, Yearning is he for the rights of his birth, And the heart of his mother to love him. Vast are your gifts to him, ample his store, Now open your door.

England, father and mother in one, Heed the voice of your son. Proffer him place in your councils of state: Let him sit near, and attend you... Continue reading book >>

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