Explore "Sonnet: Happy is England!" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Happy is England! I could be content / To see no other verdure than its own; / To feel no other breezes than are blown / Through its tall woods with high romances blent:
Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment / For skies Italian, and an inward groan / To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, / And half forget what world or worldling meant.
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; / Enough their simple loveliness for me, / Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging:
Yet do I often warmly burn to see / Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, / And float with them about the summer waters.