It comes again—the Eastertide— And wakes to pulsing life all things That sleep; once more beside the tomb, Mankind its reverent vigils keep; And wondering eyes behold The angel form; the garments lie; And hear celestial accents clear Proclaim: He is not here! Death holds Him not—nor could— Oh, would that men had understood! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YELLOW VIOLET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ROBERT GOULD SHAW by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN: SPRING by JOHN FLETCHER THE DESERTED HOUSE by ALFRED TENNYSON SHEEP AND LAMBS by KATHARINE TYNAN SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |