Flint and Feather (1914)/Part 1/Easter

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Toronto: Musson Book Co., pages 37–38


April 1, 1888

Lent gathers up her cloak of sombre shading
  In her reluctant hands.
Her beauty heightens, fairest in its fading,
  As pensively she stands
Awaiting Easter's benediction falling,
  Like silver stars at night,
Before she can obey the summons calling
  Her to her upward flight,
Awaiting Easter's wings that she must borrow
  Ere she can hope to fly—
Those glorious wings that we shall see to-morrow
  Against the far, blue sky.
Has not the purple of her vesture's lining
  Brought calm and rest to all?
Has her dark robe had naught of golden shining
  Been naught but pleasure's pall?
Who knows? Perhaps when to the world returning
  In youth's light joyousness,
We'll wear some rarer jewels we found burning
  In Lent's black-bordered dress.
So hand in hand with fitful March she lingers
  To beg the crowning grace
Of lifting with her pure and holy fingers
  The veil from April's face.

Sweet, rosy April—laughing, sighing, waiting
  Until the gateway swings,
And she and Lent can kiss between the grating
  Of Easter's tissue wings.
Too brief the bliss—the parting comes with sorrow.
  Good-bye dear Lent, good-bye!
We'll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow
  Against the far blue sky.