"Late upon yon white height the despot his fugitives rallied, Deeming the crest snow-crowned still inaccessibly frowned; Idly, for instant upon him my bright-speared chivalry sallied, Smote and far into the North swept him discomfited forth, Therefore, from root unto hole, from hole into burgeoning branches, Tendril and tassel and cup now let the ichor leap up: Therefore, with flowering drift and with fluttering bloom avalanches, Snowdrop and silver thorn laugh baffled winter to scorn; Primrose, daffodil, cowslip, shine back to my shimmering sandals, Hyacinth host, o'er the green flash your cerulean sheen, Lilac, your perfumed lamps, light, chestnut, your clustering candles, Broom and laburnum, untold torches of tremulous gold! Therefore gold-gather again from the honeyed heath and the bean field, Snatching no instant of ease, bright, multitudinous bees! Therefore, ye butterflies, float and flicker from garden to green field, Flicker and float and stay, settle and sip and away!
"Therefore race it and chase it, ye colts, in the emerald meadow! Round your serious dams frisk, ye fantastical lambs! Therefore, bird unto bird, from the woodland's wavering shadow Pipe and 'plain and protest, flutter together and nest.
"Therefore, ye skylarks, in shivering circle still higher and higher Soar, and the palpitant blue drench with delirious dew. Therefore, nightingale, lost in the leaves, or lone on the brier, Under the magic moon lift your tumultuous tune. Therefore refresh you, faint hearts, take comfort, ye souls sorrow-stricken, Winning from nature relief, courage and counsel in grief, Judging that He, whose handmaid I am, out of death to requicken Year after year His earth into more exquisite birth, Shadows thereby to your souls through what drear and perilous places Into what Paradise blest beacons His searching behest-- Even the Heaven of Heavens where fond, long-hungered-for faces Into your own shall shine radiant with rapture divine."
The stars die out on Avon's watchful breast, While simple shepherds climb through shadows grey, With beating bosoms up the Wrekin's Crest To see the sun "dance in" an Easter Day Whose dawning consummates three centuries-- Since Shakespeare's death and entrance to the skies-- Resolved the radiant miracle not to miss Reserved alone to earliest opened eyes. We, too, with faces set towards the East, Our joyful orison offerings yielding up Keep with our risen Lord His Pascal feast From Paten Blest and Consecrated Cup, And give Him thanks Who of all realms of Earth Made England richest by her Shakespeare's birth.