THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN

All along the white chalk coast

The mist lifts clear.

Wight is glimmering like a ghost.

The ship draws near.

Little inch-wide meadows

Lost so many a day,

The first time I knew you

Was when I turned away.

Island — little island —

Lost so many a year,

Mother of all I leave behind

— Draw me near!—

Mother of half the rolling world,

And O, so little and gray,

The first time I found you

Was when I turned away.

Over yon green water

Sussex lies.

But the slow mists gather

In our eyes.

England, little island

— God, how dear!—

Fold me in your mighty arms,

Draw me near.

Little tawny roofs of home,

Nestling in the gray,

Where the smell of Sussex loam

Blows across the bay...

Fold me, teach me, draw me close,

Lest in death I say

The first time I loved you

Was when I turned away.