A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.

~ Alexander Pope.

The Stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across the greenwood bound,
Through shade and sunny gleam;
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The Cottage homes of England!
by thousands, on her plains,
They are smiling o'er her silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep.
Each from its mote of leaves,
And fearless there they lowly sleep,
As the birds beneath their eaves.

Homes of England ~ Felicia Dorothea Hemans.

Happy the man, whose wish and care.
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breath his native air.
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk,
Whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In Winter fire.

Ode To Solitude ~ Alexander Pope.

Norman saw on English oak;
On English neck a Norman yoke;
Norman spoon in English dish,
And England ruled as Normans wish...

Verse in Ivanhoe, Sir Walter Scott's romance of Richard I's time,
which is recited by Wamba a Saxon jester.

Alfred Edward Housman.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

John Keats house in the village of Hampstead. Historical literary centre London.