IN that spring week of sacred memories Draped is the holy shrine, Lest the air heavy with man's dailiness And mortal cares and passions undivine Should cast upon the shape by new grief slain Earth's never-fading stain. So each man still from gross encounter covers Something of all most dear— A secret gem, a hope that flamelike hovers Serene and in his darkest night burns clear, When clouds stoop low and all grief's stormy nation Rise on his desolation. But when the sweet distress of tingling sense Sinks, until abhorred, And all the body is a sick offence And the soul seeks after her absent Lord, Even then, though faith and hope have fought and died, Unveils the Crucified. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH PROLONGED SONNET: WHEN THE TROOPS WERE RETURNING FROM MILAN by NICCOLO DEGLI ALBIZZI GYPSY MAN by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES JEFFERSON DAVIS by WALKER MERIWETHER BELL |