Waking softly from the dreaming,
Mist around the headland streaming,
Morning star in half-light gleaming;
So the rite begins …

Breaching the distant tor,
Bathing the heathered moor,
Filling the valley floor;
Ēostre alights once more.

New dawns are breaking,
New love is waking,
New buds are aching;
New life in making.

Dawnlight glowing,
Ichor flowing,
Seedlings growing;
Green shoots showing.

Gentle Ēostre, now returning,
Conjure joy from heartfelt yearning;
With your votive bonfires burning,
Let your Magick grow.

Gentle Ēostre, now caressing
Moor and Greenwood, send your blessing,
Every vale and hill addressing;
Touch the earth below.

Soon the boxing hares come leaping,
Soon the restless chicks come cheeping,
Soon the newborn eyes come peeping;
Soon the oak reborn.

Half in life and half in barrow,
Half lies tilled and half lies fallow,
Half in light and half in shadow;
Alban Eiler dawn.

Drawn from the valley floor,
Raised through the velvet moor,
Reaching the highest tor;
Earth's pulse restored once more.