Tag Archive | Easter

‘Twas down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I

(National Poetry Month, Day 24)

flag of irish republic

In observance of today’s 98th anniversary of the Easter Rising in Ireland, I present “Easter, 1916” by W.B. Yeats. I’ll let the poem speak for itself in this blog post, but I welcome discussion in the comments!

Easter, 1916
by W.B. Yeats

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman’s days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone’s in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse –
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

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Hippity hoppin’

(National Poetry Month, Day 20)
chocolate bunnies

 

Lest we forget, song lyrics are poems, too! Here’s a fun poem for today. Hoppy Easter!

 

 “Here Comes Peter Cottontail”

by Steve Nelson and Jack Rollins

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hopping down the bunny trail.
Hippity hoppin’,
Easter’s on its way!

Bringing every girl and boy
Baskets full of Easter joy
Things to make your Easter
Bright and gay.

He’s got jelly beans for Tommy,
Colored eggs for sister Sue.
There’s an orchid for your mommy,
And an Easter basket too. Oh!

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin’ down the bunny trail.
Hippity hoppity
Easter’s on its way!

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hopping down the bunny trail.
Look at him stop and listen to him say,

“Try to do the things you should.”
Maybe if you’re extra good,
He’ll roll lots of Easter eggs your way.

You’ll wake up on Easter morning
And you’ll know that he was there,
When you find those chocolate bunnies
That he’s hidden everywhere.
Oh!

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hopping down the bunny trail.
Hippity hoppity
Happy Easter Day!