Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy
There was rapture of spring in the morning
When we told our love in the wood,
For you were the spring in my heart, dear lad.
And I vowed that my life was good.
But there's winter of war in the evening,
And lowering clouds overhead,
There's wailing of wind in the chimney nook,
And I vow that my life lies dead.
For the sun may shine on the meadow lands
And the dog rose bloom in the lanes,
But I've only weeds in my garden, lad,
Wild weeds that are rank with the rains.
One solace there is for me, sweet but faint,
As it floats on the wind of the years,
A whisper that spring is the last true thing
And that triumph is born of tears.
It comes from a garden of other days,
And an echoing voice that cries,
Behold I am alive for evermore,
And in Me shall the dead arise.
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Comments about this poem (Easter by Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy )
- Am I Back?, Michael McParland
- Take the poison, gajanan mishra
- If ever I know, hasmukh amathalal
- Locked, The Princess is
- Simple enough, hasmukh amathalal
- What is the End of Sufferingf? When? ?, Mr. Nobody
- Coin, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath
- Peripeteia Personified, michael walkerjohn
- After long, tedious work..., Lev Brekhman
- Satisfection, Tadasha Tripathy
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