Happy is England Now

There is not anything more wonderful

Than a great people moving towards the deep

Of an unguessed and unfeared future; nor

Is aught so dear of all held dear before

As the new passion stirring in their veins

When the destroying Dragon wakes from sleep.

Happy is England now, as never yet!

And though the sorrows of the slow days fret

Her faithfullest children, grief itself is proud.

Ev'n the warm beauty of this spring and summer

That turns to bitterness turns then to gladness

Since for this England the beloved ones died.

Happy is England in the brave that die

For wrongs not hers and wrongs so sternly hers;

Happy in those that give, give, and endure

The pain that never the new years may cure;

Happy in all her dark woods, green fields, towns,

Her hills and rivers and her chafing sea.

Whate'er was dear before is dearer now.

There's not a bird singing upon his bough

But sings the sweeter in our English ears:

There's not a nobleness of heart, hand, brain

But shines the purer; happiest is England now

In those that fight, and watch with pride and tears.

Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.