Classic Poem

They speak deep truths, these lilies dumb,
Whose waxen forms our altars hide,
Fresh from Bermudian gardens come
To help us keep our Easter-tide.

They rouse our slumbering minds to think,
These timid, trembling crocus blooms,
In blue and lavender and pink,
From Nature's daintiest colour-looms.

The regal tulips flaunting fair
In gorgeous robes of red and gold,
Through parks and gardens everywhere,
What thoughts their broidered bosoms hold;

We read their minds and glimpses get
That fill us with mysterious joy,
Of worlds where perfect words are set
To melodies that never cloy,

Of marsh-lands welcoming every day
Ecstatic tides that surge and sweep
From that divine, unfathomed bay,
The source of soul-perfection, deep,

Of fields beyond the doors of death,
O'er-arched by skies of lovelier blue
And rich with buds of sweeter breath
Than Indian islands ever knew.

O shadowy lanes through which we pass,
To mellow noon or purple night,
With springing step, or slow, alas!
The days too quickly taking flight,

Let all your measuring mile-stones be
Swathed in the flowers whose petals hide
Thoughts deep as God's eternity,
Truths angels tell at Easter-tide.