O royal England! happy child Of such a more than regal line; Be it said Fair right of jubilee is thine; And surely thou art unbeguiled If thou keep with mirth and play, With dance, and jollity, and praise, Such a To-day which sums such Yesterdays. Pour to the joyless ones thy joy, thy oil And wine to such as faint and toil. And let thy vales make haste to be more green Than any vales are seen In less auspicious lands, And let thy trees clap all their leafy hands, And let thy flowers be gladder far of hue Than flowers of other regions may; Let the rose, with her fragrance sweetened through, Flush as young maidens do, With their own inward blissfulness at play. And let the sky twinkle an eagerer blue Over our English isle Than any otherwhere; Till strangers shall behold, and own that she is fair. Play up, play up, ye birds of minstrel June, Play up your reel, play up your giddiest spring, And trouble every tree with lusty tune, Whereto our hearts shall dance For overmuch pleasance, And children's running make the earth to sing. And ye soft winds, and ye white-fingered beams, Aid ye her to invest, Our queenly England, in all circumstance Of fair and feat adorning to be drest; Kirtled in jocund green, Which does befit a Queen, And like our spirits cast forth lively gleams: And let her robe be goodly garlanded With store of florets white and florets red, With store of florets white and florets gold, A fair thing to behold; Intrailed with the white blossom and the blue, A seemly thing to view! And thereunto, Set over all a woof of lawny air, From her head wavering to her sea-shod feet, Which shall her lovely beauty well complete, And grace her much to wear.