Only England can display the rapture of an English day, in winter when the river freezes when March winds howl as springtime teases

When at last her time has come spring brings with her a tepid sun. The sun is shy and hides her face behind a cloud of purest lace

Translucent sunbeams fall to earth, the flowers now are full of mirth, they nod their heads, they toss their leaves, they chatter to the bursting trees - “come on get dressed, come out to play, prepare yourself for glorious may”

Sleepy Hamlets stir at dawn,  a paper boy stifles a yawn , on  each step stands white and straight, bottled milk from Unigate

Hedgerows flourish with the fern, old oak trees look gnarled and stern, bumpy -  lumpy -  rough and stout, their trunks are England; there's no doubt

The magic of old London town, sweet laughter when the “chips” are down. Raucous sounds from raucous pubs, when old landladies serve the grub

The soft and gentle wealds of Kent, the English rose perfumed with scent

Only England can display the wonder of an English day, only if you come from there can you really feel aware 

Can you run on hilltops high, be proud of England - or she may die!