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.