Alice Duer was an ex-patriate American who spent the better part of her life in England, and in 1940 wrote a poem that defined, for her, the England she loved. This is an extract....

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I have loved England, dearly and deeply, Since that first morning, shining and pure, The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply Out of the sea that once made her secure.

I had no thought then of husband or lover, I was a traveller, the guest of a week; Yet when they pointed "the white cliffs of Dover", Startled, I found there were tears on my cheek.  

I have loved England, and still as a stranger, Here is my home and I still am alone. Now in hour of trial and danger, Only the English are really her own.

 When the sun shines on England, it atones For low-hung leaden skies, and rain and dim Moist fogs that paint the verdure on her stones And fill her gentle rivers to the brim.

When the sun shines on England, shafts of light Fall on far towers and hills and dark old trees, And hedge-bound meadows of a green as bright - As bright as is the blue of tropic seas.

 Oh, English voices, are there any words Those tones to tell, those cadences to teach! As the song of thrushes is to other birds, So English voices are to other speech: Those pure round o's - those lovely liquid l's Ring in your ears like the sound of Sabbath bells.

Yet I have loathed those voices when the sense Of what they said seemed to me insolence, As if the dominance of the whole nation Lay in that clear correct enunciation.

The English love their country with a love Steady, and simple, wordless, dignified; I think it sets their patriotism above All others. We Americans have pride - We glory in our country's short romance. We boast of it and love it. Frenchmen, when The ultimate menace comes, will die for France Logically as they lived. But Englishmen Will serve day after day, obey the law, And do dull tasks that keep a nation strong. Once I remember in London how I saw Pale shabby people standing in a long Line in the twilight and the misty rain To pay their tax. I then saw England plain.

 And were they not English, our forefathers, never more English than when they shook the dust of her sod From their feet for ever, angrily seeking a shore Where in his own way a man might worship his God. Never more English than when they dared to be Rebels against her - that stern intractable sense Of that which no man can stomach and still be free

 The tree of Liberty grew and changed and spread, But the seed was English. I am an American bred, I have seen much to hate here - much to forgive, But in a world where England is finished and dead, I do not wish to live.