On Easter Day
The silver trumpets rang across the Dome: The people knelt upon the ground with awe: And borne upon the necks of men I saw, Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome. Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam, And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red, Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head: In splendor and in light the Pope passed home. My heart stole back across wide wastes of years To One who wandered by a lonely sea, And sought in vain for any place of rest: "Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest, I, only I, must wander wearily, And bruise My feet, and drink wine salt with tears."
On Easter Day - context Summary
Easter Procession Observed
Written for Easter Day, the poem contrasts the pomp and splendor of a papal procession with the memory of Christ’s humble suffering. Wilde watches the Pope’s ceremonial display—robes, crowns, and public adoration—and his heart turns to the earlier image of a solitary, wandering Christ who found no rest. The poem registers a tension between institutional grandeur and personal, sorrowful devotion.
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