It’s Easter Sunday, the most joyful day in the Christian calendar.

And it’s springtime, for real. After a hard winter here in the Mid-Atlantic, spring has burst into a special glory.

In the faith of countless millions, and in the natural world given to all, this is a time of renewal, rebirth, and the return of life after darkness.

It doesn’t feel like it much, maybe. These days. There are shadows looming over our time—the shadow of war, the shadows of lies, of mindless rage, of authoritarianism extending over many lands.

And all of this creeping, oppressive pall can seem overwhelming. It is hard for a lot of people to find the joy in this season, or on any given day. It’s hard for many of us to escape the feeling that we live in a time of darkness.

And yet.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

That is the faith of Christians; this is the day the entire Christian story turns on that claim.

But the symbolic power of springtime extends far beyond any one faith tradition. It is given to us all. It is a natural fact of the beautiful blue planet we dwell on, our earth—the given earth, suspended in the overwhelming darkness of space, shining forth in the photograph taken by our astronauts on their way to the moon.

So let’s celebrate our springtime with two poems, one sacred, one profane.

The first is by the English poet A.E. Housman. My mother loved the coming of spring, and she loved this poem, tinged with sorrow. She’d recite it every year, as long as she could, before the shadows of Alzheimer’s closed in on her.

The second is by e.e. cummings. It is mischievous, mythic, and mysterious.

—Terry

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedLoveliest of trees, the cherry nowIs hung with bloom along the bough,And stands about the woodland rideWearing 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 bloomFifty springs are little room,About the woodlands I will goTo see the cherry hung with snow.

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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedin Just-spring when the world is mud-luscious the littlelame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill comerunning from marbles andpiracies and it'sspring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queerold balloonman whistlesfar and weeand bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it'sspringand

the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistlesfarandwee