Dim dawn behind the tamerisks, the sky is saffron-yellow,As the women in the village grind the corn,And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellowThat the Day, the staring Easter Day, is born.O the white dust on the highway! O the stenches in the byway!O the clammy fog that hovers over earth!And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry,What part have India's exiles in their mirth? Full day begind the tamarisks, the sky is blue and staring,As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,To