EASTER-EVEN VIOLETS.
FOR Easter Day, O Lilies white,
Your shrinèd splendors keep!
But while the sweet, sad, waning light
Of Easter-Even fades,
Amid the sacred shades
Where Sorrow comes to weep,—
Nor weeps in vain
Since Hope is born of very Pain
(And Pain its pangs in joy forgets)—
There breathe your balm, sweet Violets!
Dear twilight-flowers whose lovely hue,
More tender than the tenderest blue
Yet not as purple sad, appears
Most like transformèd tears.
Your shrinèd splendors keep!
But while the sweet, sad, waning light
Of Easter-Even fades,
Amid the sacred shades
Where Sorrow comes to weep,—
Nor weeps in vain
Since Hope is born of very Pain
(And Pain its pangs in joy forgets)—
There breathe your balm, sweet Violets!
Dear twilight-flowers whose lovely hue,
More tender than the tenderest blue
Yet not as purple sad, appears
Most like transformèd tears.
"A little while!" ye seem to sigh;
"And yet a little while!" ye say;
"The stone shall noiseless roll away:
Unseen across the midnight sky
Twilight and Daybreak run to meet!
Already angels throng the air,
And twain descending kneel,
Veilèd in awe, at head and feet
"And yet a little while!" ye say;
"The stone shall noiseless roll away:
Unseen across the midnight sky
Twilight and Daybreak run to meet!
Already angels throng the air,
And twain descending kneel,
Veilèd in awe, at head and feet
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