Rises.

Hear the voice of the Bard,

Who present, past, and future, sees;

            Whose ears have heard

            The Holy Word

That walked among the ancient trees;

      Calling the lapsed soul,

And weeping in the evening dew;

            That might control

            The starry pole,

And fallen, fallen light renew!

      O Earth, O Earth, return!

Arise from out the dewy grass!

            Night is worn,

            And the morn

Rises from the slumbrous mass.

      Turn away no more;

Why wilt thou turn away?

            The starry floor,

            The watery shore,

Is given thee till the break of day.

William Blake