Poems (Kimball)/Easter-even Violets
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.
"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 Of that new tomb whose broken seal The wondering Morning shall reveal. And 'He is risen!' declare. Sweet odors—sweeter than the sweet Of violets and lilies blent,The sweet of holy slumber spent— Stealing from vesture folded fair And fragrant with the Lord's own care, Wherein His Blessed Body lay Till break of day, Shall make most sweet the graves of those Who, entering into Paradise, Do sleep in Him who died and rose— In whom they, too, shall rise."