Speak to me of England
Narrow lanes, with leafy trees, A gently laughing English breeze, Crested waves on summer seas — This is the land of England.
The scent of roses in full bloom, A lazy afternoon in June — These come to set my heart in tune, These speak to me of England.
Frosts in late autumn — sparkling white, November mists — the sheer delight Of fireworks every Bonfire Night — On some green lawn of England.
A very English cup of tea, A little English company, A smile from someone dear to me — Bred and born in old England.
Returning to England on a plane — Landing in cold and pouring rain, Yet this is home — I’m back again, My heart is here — in England.
My heart is in the paradise, Which here surrounds me — spires that rise, Within the city — love ne’er dies, For cottage — town — this England.
Winter sunshine along the Cotswold Way, near Winchcombe in Gloucestershire.
A solitary fisherman amid the seasonal mist on the tranquil Esthwaite Water, Lancashire.SIMON WHALEY
Looking towards the magnificent York Minster across the snow-capped rooftops of the city.