AND he is risen? Well, be it so. . . . And still the pensive lands complain, And dead men wait as long ago, As if, much doubting, they would know What they are ransomed from, before They pass again their sheltering door. I stand amid them in the rain, While blusters vex the yew and vane; And on the road the weary wain Plods forward, laden heavily; And toilers with their aches are fain For endless rest -- though risen is he. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: THE RARITY OF GENIUS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PASSED BY by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE SLEEP IN GETHSEMANE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH FACE TO FACE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON WINTER TWILIGHT by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON SAINT CHRISTOPHER by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK |