England.

Where'er I go in this dense East,
    In sunshine or shade,
I retch at the villainous feast
    That England has made.

And my shame cannot understand,
    As scorn springs elate,
How I ever loved that land
    That now I hate!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

A Mahommadan Ship Fireman.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

In An East End Hovel. To A Workman, A Would-Be Suicide.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Art.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To The Artists.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To England.

I.


There was a time when all thy sons were proud
    To speak thy name,
England, when Europe echoed back aloud
    Thy fearless fame:

When Spain reeled shattered helpless from thy guns
    And splendid ire,
When from Canadian snows to Indian suns
    Pitt's soul was fire.

O that in days like these were, fair and free
    From shame and scorn,
Fate had allowed, benignly, pityingly
    That I was born!

O that, if struck, then struck with glorious wounds,
    I bore apart
(Not torn with fangs of leprous coward hounds)
    My bleeding heart!


II.


We hate you - not because of cruel deeds
    Staining a glorious effort. They who live
    Learn in this earth to give and to forgive,
Where he...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To India.

O India, India, O my lovely land -
    At whose sweet throat the greedy English snake,
With fangs and lips that suck and never slake,
    Clings, while around thee, band by stifling band,
The loathsome shape twists, chaining foot and hand -
    O from this death-swoon must thou never wake,
    From limbs enfranchised these foul fetters to shake,
And, proud among the nations, to rise and stand?
Nay, but thine eyes, thine eyes wherein there stays
    The patience of that august faith that scorns
The tinsel creed of Christ, dream still and gaze
Where, not within the timeless East and haze,
    The haunt of that wan moon with fading horns,
    There breaks the first of Himalayan morns!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To Japan.

Simple you were, and good. No kindlier heart
    Beat than the heart within your gentle breast.
    Labour you had, and happiness, and rest,
And were the maid of nations. Now you start
To feverish life, feeling the poisonous smart
    Upon your lips of harlot lips close-pressed,
    The lips of her who stands among the rest
With greasy righteous soul and rotten heart.
O sunrise land, O land of gentleness,
    What madness drives you to lust's dreadful bed?
O thrice accursed England, wretchedness
    For ever be on you, of whom 'tis said,
Prostitute plague-struck, that you catch and kiss
    Innocent lives to make them foully dead!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Hong-Kong Lyrics.

I.


At anchor in that harbour of the island,
    The Chinese gate,
We lay where, terraced under green-clad highland,
    The sea-town sate.

Ships, steamers, sailors, many a flag and nation,
    A motley crew,
Junks, sampans, all East's swarming jubilation,
    I watched and knew.

Then, as I stood, sweet sudden sounds out-swelling
    On the boon breeze,
The church-bells' chiming echoes rang out, telling
    Of inland peace.

O English chimes, your music rising and falling
    I cannot praise,
Although to me it come sweet-sad recalling
    Dear childish days.

Yet, English chimes, - last links of chains that sever,
    Worn out and done,
That land and creed that I have left for ever, -
    Ring on, ring on!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

England

We have no grass locked up in ice so fast
That cattle cut their faces and at last,
When it is reached, must lie them down and starve,
With bleeding mouths that freeze too hard to move.
We have not that delirious state of cold
That makes men warm and sing when in Death's hold.
We have no roaring floods whose angry shocks
Can kill the fishes dashed against their rocks.
We have no winds that cut down street by street,
As easy as our scythes can cut down wheat.
No mountains here to spew their burning hearts
Into the valleys, on our human parts.
No earthquakes here, that ring church bells afar,
A hundred miles from where those earthquakes are.
We have no cause to set our dreaming eyes,
Like Arabs, on fresh streams in Paradise.
We have no wilds to harbour men that t...

William Henry Davies

Green fields of England! wheresoeer

Green fields of England! wheresoeer
Across this watery waste we fare,
Your image at our hearts we bear
Green fields of England, everywhere.

Sweet eyes in England, I must flee
Past where the waves last confines be,
Ere your loved smile I cease to see,
Sweet eyes in England, dear to me.

Dear home in England, safe and fast
If but in thee my lot lie cast,
The past shall seem a nothing past
To thee, dear home, if won at last;
Dear home in England, won at last.

Arthur Hugh Clough