Explore "Cadences" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
(Mid-Lent)
The low, gray sky curveth from hill to hill, / Silent and all untenanted; / From the trees also all glad sound hath fled, / Save for the little wind that moaneth still / Because it deemeth Earth is surely dead.
For many days no woman hath gone by, / Her gold hair knowing, as of old, / The wind's caresses and the sun's kind gold; / Perchance even she hath thought it best to die / Because all things are sad things to behold.
(Easter Morning)
She cometh now, with the sun's splendid shine / On face and limbs and hair!
Ye who are watching, have ye seen so fair / A Lady ever as this one is of mine?
Have ye beheld her likeness anywhere?
See, as she cometh unrestrained and fleet / Past the thrush-haunted trees, / How glad the lilies are that touch her knees!
How glad the grasses underneath her feet!
And how even I am yet more glad than these!