I Cannot Know What Country Owns Thee Now, With France'S Forest Lilies On Thy Brow. When England Knew Thee Thou Wert Passing Fair; I Never Knew A Foreign Face So Rare. The World Of Waters Rolls And Rushes Bye, Nor Lets Me Wander Where Thy Vallies Lie. But Surely France Must Be A Pleasant Place That Greets The Stranger With So Fair A Face; The English Maiden Blushes Down The Dance, But Few Can Equal The Fair Maid Of France. I Saw Thee Lovely And I Wished Thee Mine, And The Last Song I Ever Wrote Is Thine. Thy Country'S Honour On Thy Face Attends; Men May Be Foes But Beauty Makes Us Friends.