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,


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