Easter Eve

APRIL POEMS

EASTER EVE

This is the day the Lord lay dead;

No crowd to jeer now or applaud.

Safe in the darkness the gentle head-

This is the day that there was no Lord.

No Jesus walking the dusty road.

No Christ looking down from the quiet sky.

No hand to help with the heaviest load.

No ear to hear the bitterest cry.

It is not winter, it is not spring-

Only the rushing of winds and brooks.

No hepatica even, if anyone looks,

And birds too dull to sing.

Only the wind rushing through the pines

And one maple candled red.

Blue mist muffling the mountain lines

The day that the Lord lay dead.