Best Famous Eastertide Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Eastertide poems. This is a select list of the best famous Eastertide poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Eastertide poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of eastertide poems.
Search and read the best famous Eastertide poems, articles about Eastertide poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Eastertide poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
See Also:
Written by
A E Housman |
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
|
Written by
Rg Gregory |
as the landscape falls away
the hawthorn in its gnarly fashion
is content to stand alone
berries (the very tint of passion)
that birds are wont to feed upon
bloodstain the shortened day
a stubborn tree that speaks
of crusty age - its thorns alert
to any too-spirited invasion
who comes (it seems to say) gets hurt
not those birds with juicy beaks
insects swarm – by invitation
come may though – winter fading
may tree with its prickly pride
sprouts white in prim rejoicing
hunches around at eastertide
spry uncle with (brightly voicing)
maids and suchlike masquerading
when hedged in (deprived of pique)
its softer nature greenly oozing
it’s host to children’s fingers
(their tasty bread and cheesing)
first name means strength in greek
one of nature’s best harbingers
many names to match its guises
whitethorn quickthorn ske **** hag
rich too in its folklore listings
much belies its tetchy tag
its wry wood (tangled twistings)
pleurisy-cure a book advises
old men have a hawthorn look
pretend to a rough vernacular
deny once-selves gentle as fairies
wince at their own spectacular
maydays (wistful gobbledegook)
as the young feed off their berries
|
Written by
George William Russell |
The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
Have gathered them and will do never again.
|