Summer 1945 • Vol. VII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1945 |

Elegy for a Child on Easter Morning

Through illusional leaves she had some graceIn the sun in her youngness with him.The effusions of birds, the mere ingenuous shadingOf their songs, awakened to dance or raceWith the dapple beyond the path, and the stemOf the tree, the boundless child in her.So light were their steps in the sun, at its fadingShe rested in the warmth of the shadow of his face. But the hair flamed in the warm night.In the sun of a quiet coming of morning the childWas forth from her; the ruddy limbs were damped.And his own song on that danceless treedMorning, in her despite, beguiledIts pain to bear with earth the burden of his lightAnd first begotten bones, in their grayness freedTo motion so large-turned her eyesCould not mirror the fire of its figures. WhereThen in him, while he rested strifeless there,Should her sorrowing love be couched, that it ariseTo hear once more? Had she not thought the triumph of a nameSo proud it must resound in the ironSuddenness of forged, monstrous bells, the fameOf

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Madrigal

By John Edward Hardy

Through illusional leaves she had some graceIn the sun in her youngness with him.The effusions of birds, the mere ingenuous shadingOf their songs, awakened to dance or raceWith the dapple […]

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