Easter Saturday
And gladly now approaches Easter fair,
Robed chastely in the purest lambs-wool sheen.
On each spring-wakened bush- and tree-bough there
Grow heavenwards new tender leaf-buds green;
While gentle, fragrant grass-blades, tipped with dew,
Fringe rippling ponds reflecting clear sunlight:
Fresh Spring is everywhere to charm the view.
Now pinks the rosebud from its bed of thorn;
Now pales the lily from its reed-girt moat.
Harmonic burblings gaily greet the dawn
From every pulsing winged and furry throat.
Young lovers dally coyly in the sun
And with sweet, tender mumurings plight their troth;
Whilst kindly peace envelops everyone:
To feel its tender touch is no-one loth.
And now the fecund world expectant lies,
As the set sun fades finally away,
As if expecting some clear sign to rise
To beacon forth the birth of Easter Day.
