Sonnet 39 'There Is a Restless Stirring In the Breast'

There is a restless stirring in the breast, A Sap, not even wakened Summer brings… No song, but the beginnings of a Song, A few notes hinting unenvisaged things Seed-words, that – as yet – cannot quite be sung Foundation-stones of temples yet unborn. As a hero in the womb still sucks his thumb, As the shadow of a sapling’s thin and wan, So does the Spirit of the Resurrection, Entombed no more, speak softly at the dawn: ‘O touch me not, for I am not yet risen! Go tell the others that I am not gone!’ And every Christ and angel and elf sings, The Gladness of the Day, that Easter brings! 4/2/2019