The shades of night are still around.
So early is the world that stars
Are still too numerous to count
As each as bright as day came out,
And if the Earth could be allowed,
Through Easter she would sleep, no doubt,
To readings from the Book of Psalms.
The shades of night are still around.
Such is the early world that still
The city square spreads out unbound
Like an eternity unwound,
And till the dawn and warmth rebound,
There’s a millennium to fill.
The Earth is still stark naked ground;
No hint at night of an attire
To swing the temple bells and sound
A footloose backup for the choir.
And from the Holy Thursday on,
Until the very Easter Eve,
The waters drill the banks head-on
And never cease to whirl and weave.
It is the Passion of Our Lord.
The woods, disrobed, in disarray,
Stand silent like a pine cohort
Of worshippers in need to pray.
In town, across a tighter space,
The naked trees appear to perch
As if in conclave as they gaze
Through grated windows of the church.
And their eyes with fright dilate.
They feel a sense of deep unrest.
The gardens venture through the grate;
The ancient ways of Earth are swayed;
They lay Almighty God to rest.
They see a light by Holy Gate,
A corporal and candles wait,
And tearful faces of the crowd.
At once Procession of the Cross
Comes out behind a holy shroud.
And lest their paths might oddly cross,
Two birches move to yield some ground.
Around the yard the faithful tread.
Then back they march in solemn praise
And bring, as through the porch they’re led,
The chat of spring and springtime scent,
The air that tastes of holy bread
With flavors of the vernal craze.
And March flings snowflakes left and right
At cripples gathered on the site,
As if a man had stepped outside,
Brought out a shrine and opened wide
And shared till there was nothing left.
At dusk, the chanting comes out soft:
They’ve wept to their hearts’ content,
Yet songs and psalms will still have got
To streetlights by an empty lot
But won’t be heard around the bend.
The midnight hushes all at length.
The beast and flesh have sensed the quirk
Of spring and know that with her breath
There’ll be a way to conquer death
By Resurrection put to work.