Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, EASTER-TIDE, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

EASTER-TIDE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Awake, arise, oh earth!
Last Line: A mystery has been! A mystery!
Subject(s): Easter; Holidays; The Resurrection


AWAKE, arise, oh Earth!
Thy hour has come at last;
The winter's ruin past,
Spring comes to birth.
The virgin world with flowers again grows bright,
And in the increasing light
Doth clothe herself with beauty; once again
A new creation issues with a stately train.

Oh soul of man, arise
And keep thy Easter-tide,
White clothed as is a bride,
With calm pure eyes;
When all things living else rejoice,
Not thine should be the voice
Alone to keep dull silence, mute, unheard,
amid the joy that wakens every nesting bird.

'Tis an old Spring of mirth
That bids our souls arise;
No other moved the priests and augurs wise
Upon the younger earth
When for the Passover the lamb was slain,
Nor when they did complain
Of old time for the fair Adonis dead,
Greeting with tears of joy that dear recovered head.

The same, yet not the same,
Joy fuller, deeper grief
Than in the old ages came
To wake belief.
The Spring our voices celebrate to-day
Is not the Spring which fades with May,
Nor that renewal ours which shall be done
Soon as our earth leans outward from the averted sun.

Nor as theirs is our loss
Who wept the enamoured boy;
Ours is a heavier cross,
A livelier joy,
Mixed in such sort with grief that one is bred
From the other and by it nourished,
So that without the salutary pain
Were no place left for this triumphant gain.

Great Law of Sacrifice
On which our lives are built,
That with our load of guilt
Soars to the skies,
I doubt if ever there was race of man
But based its life on such a mystic plan,
From old Prometheus' godlike treachery
To calm Osiris cold and sad Persephone.

Therefore, because the end
Of Winter comes and Death,
Our yearning souls ascend,
Faith quickeneth.
How should it be that man alone could cease
When all things else increase?
Man, the first fruit of Time, Creation's crown --
Shall he, while all is Spring, lie hopeless and cast down?

Ay, always with the Spring
The waking comes again;
Mixed tones of joy and pain
Our life-chords sing.
Sweet are the songs of autumn, sweet of death,
And bitter sweet the first-drawn breath,
And sweet, though full of pain, the mortal strife
When from Death's grasp we struggle into Life.

That is the law of life --
Joy bought by sacrifice,
Pleasure for hopeless sighs,
And rest for strife.
The earth is no more, as it was at first,
By some strange spell accurst;
A mystery has passed a mystery,
A boundless hope has bid new heavens and earth to be.

Rise, happy Earth, arise,
Thy wintry darkness done,
To greet the new-risen sun
Oh soul, arise!
The joy which stirs the world let it wake thee.
A symbol of thy risen life is born.
Awake, arise! this is the very morn;
A mystery has been! a mystery!





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