The Awakening

Behold, she is risen who lay asleep so long,

Our England, our Belovèd! We have seen

The swelling of the waters, we have heard

The thundering cataracts call. Behold, she is risen,

Lovelier in resurrection than the face

Of vale or mountain, when, with storming tears,

At all Earth's portals knocks the importunate Spring.

We watched her sleeping. Day and night we strove

With the dread spell that drowsed her heart. And thrice

In the unrest of her sick dreams she stirred,

Half raised herself, half oped her lips and lids,

And thrice the evil charm prevailed, and thrice

She fell back forceless. But behold, she is risen,

The Hope of the World is risen, is risen anew.