Welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios.

I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Friday, June 20th, 2025.

Today's poem is another by John Keats, and whether you are an anglophile or just a homebody,

this one has something for you.

It's another of his untitled sonnets known by its first line or opening phrase, happy is England. And while there's certainly

something objective and particular about England for Keats here, after all, Keats ended up

traveling abroad quite a bit and even dying outside of England.

So this poem, in retrospect, takes on an even greater significance.

But it also expresses that universal love of home, that feeling that can come upon you,

that opens your eyes to the beauties of the place that you live and love and perhaps often take for

granted. And yet, there is an apology to that beloved home in this poem too, because one can't help,

but yearn to see something else. As someone who is preparing to travel abroad as I record this, the feeling is very

poignant. Also speaking of home, I have a two-year-old in my lap as I record this. So if you

hear any odd atmospheric noises, please forgive them. Here's the poem. Happy is England.

Happy is England. I could be content to see no other verger than its own, to feel no other breezes than are blown through its tall woods with high romances blent. Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment for skies Italian and an inward groan to sit upon an

alp as on a throne, and half forget what world or world they meant. Happy is England, sweet her artless

daughters, enough their simple loveliness for me,

enough their whitest arms in silence clinging.

Yet do I often warmly burn to sea

beauties of deeper glance,

and hear their singing and float with them about the summer waters.

I love the clever way that Keats arranges his rhyme scheme here so that we get the word daughters,

...