HAPPY IS ENGLAND

Happy is England...and happy am I in England!
...yet Keats can say it better.
I mean, Keats can write it better and still embrace the same feeling I share and long for.

So, Keats:

HAPPY IS ENGLAND
Happy is England! I could be content
To see no other verdure than it's 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 worldling meant.
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;
Enough their simple loveliness for me,
Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging:
Yet fo I often warmly burn to see
Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing,
And float with them about the summer waters.

(December, 1816)

Of course I would replace the Italian skies with my beloved south or the close but yet far enlightening Buenos Aires. Either one.
And it's not the Alps I seek to sit upon but to see and feel the Andes around me, protecting and assuring me I'm at home.
I have shout with excitement when missing them has led my imagination to think they're here when all I have seen is a cloud in the orange afternoon.