7 APRIL 1950, Page 8

Easter Eve

THE skies are hung in violet air And trees have ceased their winter grieving. On sordid pavements sound the feet

Of the dead-souled.and shrouded living.

The tinselled windows upward gaze Brighter than Betelgeuse or Mars. Cold brilliance of fluorescent light Imitates the ancient stars Fearing their solitude, men reach To flaring isles on night-black seas. Once, in grave Spring, a garden tomb Held a more living light than these.

0 Easter world, confirm the dream Of life that was the Light of men Shine on uncomprehending dark And fire the resinous heart again.

ISOBEL CUMMING.