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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>England</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom, <br>Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam, <br>Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom, <br>Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver, <br>Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free, <br>Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river, <br>Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Is there a corner of land, a furze-fringed rag of a by-way, <br>Coign of your foam-white cliffs or swirl of your grass-green waves, <br>Leaf of your peaceful copse, or dust of your strenuous highway, <br>But in our hearts is sacred, dear as our cradles, our graves? <br>Is not each bough in your orchards, each cloud in the skies above you, <br>Is not each byre or homestead, furrow or farm or fold, <br>Dear as the last dear drops of the blood in the hearts that love you, <br>Filling those hearts till the love is more than the heart can hold?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a></strong></div>