The House of the Trees
& Other Poems


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

Noonday of the Year



THE streams that chattered in the cold
     Are sleeping in the sun;
The winds of March were overbold
     Until their race was run.

O mad with haste the morning went,

5

     But now love-warm and deep,
The fields, their first ambition spent,
     Lie in their noonday sleep. [Page 66]