| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Easter Evening | | By James Church Alvord |
| | | WALKING through woodlands and oncoming night | |
| I saw His hair stream in the sky-line’s red, | |
| I heard His footsteps on the path which led | |
| Out from the naked trees; while golden light | |
| Shook from His seamless robe, that, rimpling, slight | 5 |
| As woof of dream-stuff, flamed across the bed | |
| Of some low-gurgling brook. He was not dead— | |
| His risen presence was a world’s delight. | |
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| It was the magic of a night too fleet | |
| That filled the valley with a foam of mist; | 10 |
| The scorch of cloud-banks that the sun still kissed, | |
| And crunch of crinkled leaves beneath my feet. | |
| I’d offer every breath I’ve yet to breathe, | |
| Just to believe, O Master—to believe! | | | | |
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