Poem: Easter Day



The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.
My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
'Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest.
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.'

Added: Aug 13 2004 | Viewed: 2708 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Oscar Wilde
Poem: 13. Poem: Easter Day
Volume: Poems
Year: Published/Written in 1881
Poem of the Day on:
Nov 24 2004
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