The long-awaited thing.
We laid you down in autumn
When the world was falling cold
Beyond the hope of spring.
You were given to the snows
Buried only with the hope
That the hand that turns the spheres
Would spin for us an equinox
And would complete that circuit
That would send the lightning down
To strike your still, surrendered heart
And set it once again to race.
Today is a seed
That has slept its season
Today the buried thing breaks free,
To roar up resurrected
And raise above the winter world
The budding banner of itself
That lives and dies and lives again
For the healing of the nations.