The House of the Trees
& Other Poems

by Ethelwyn Wetherald


The Visitors

IN the room where I was sleeping
    The sun came to the floor;
Its silent thought went leaping
    To where in woods of yore
    It felt the sun before.

At noon the rain was slanting
    In gray lines from the west;
A hurried child all panting
    It pattered to my nest,
    And smiled when sun-caressed.

At eve the wind was flying
    Bird-like from bed to chair,
Of brown leaves sere and dying
    It brought enough to spare,
    And dropped them here and there.

At night-time without warning,
    I felt almost to pain
The soul of the sun in the morning,
    And the soul of the wind and rain
    In my sleeping-room remain. [Page 19]