I Dreamed Of England Returned To Herself Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I dreamed of England returned to herself
and the bitter knights reconciled;
Albion, coming clear in the mists
and the cherry carol branching
and ah, the dream of the Rood
tremulous in jeweled bloom.
I will leap up to God, my God
and see the angels rustling in the trees
where once the poet William Blake
fell to his knees and understood
that poetry is certain good
and illumination, praise.
the sea of faith is verging in the dark.
the poet soldiers mark their place
and turn again, homeward
silent, rank on rank and lilting,
the lanes all apple blossom filled,
the lovely strand...
and all their words
are like a field on every hand
with madrigals strewn
and not cut down.
and not cut down.
while ancient wounds
break into birdsong, flower,
into the bridal tunes.
mary angela douglas 17 june 2017