[Pg 7]

The lordship and love of the lovely land,

The grace of the town that hath on it for crown

But a headband to wear

Of violets one-hued with her hair:

For the vales and the green high places of earth

Hold nothing so fair,

130

And the depths of the sea bear no such birth

Of the manifold births they bear.

Too well, too well was the great stake worth

A strife divine for the Gods to judge,

A crowned God's triumph, a foiled God's grudge,

Though the loser be strong and the victress wise

Who played long since for so large a prize,

The fruitful immortal anointed adored

Dear city of men without master or lord,

Fair fortress and fostress of sons born free,

140

Who stand in her sight and in thine, O sun,

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