(with apologies to William Blake)
And did my feet in former times
Walk among England’s gardens green,
Yet was my mind by Zion’s voice
On England’s pleasant pastures gleaned!
Prophetic vision, words divine,
Flowed from my thirsty burning brain
And in Jerusalem I forgot
Those English meadows blessed with rain.
Bring me a spade of oak and brass
Bring me a russet branch with shoots
Bring me a trowel, some seeds of grass,
Bring me a rambling rose with roots!
I shall not ease my homesick heart
Nor will my soul flee from its snare,
Till in this stone Jerusalem
I plant an English garden fair.
6 December 1993