The barriers of sleep are crossed
And I alone am yet awake,
Keeping another Pentecost
For that new visitation’ s sake
Of life descending on the hills
In blackthorn bloom and daffodils.
At peace upon my pillow lain
I celebrate the spirit come
In spring’ s immutable youth again
Across the lands of Christendom;
I hear in all the choral host
The coming of the Holy Ghost.
The sacrament of bough and blade,
Of populous folds and building birds
I take, till now an end is made
Of praise and ceremonial words,
And I too turn myself to keep
The quiet festival of sleep.