Strong tides of early sunlight sweep Across the quiet hills, Awaking grass and ferns from sleep, The trees, and lyric rills; White clouds, like sea-mews, skim the sky; Low purls the fragrant breeze; And robins from the pine-boughs nigh Make matin-melodies. 'Tis Easter morning, calm and clear, In spirit solitude; Hushed are the sounds of strife and fear, Hushed sorrow's carking brood.
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