Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



The phantom time of day is here.
    Some spirit from diviner air
Unto our blindness draweth near,
    And in our musing seems to share.

Who hath not in a darkening wood,

    At twilight’s moment, dimly known
That all his hurts were understood
    By some near presence not his own;

That all his griefs were comforted,
    His aspirations given release;

And that upon his troubled head
    Was laid the viewless hand of Peace.

Too sure for doubt, too sweet for fear,
    Unfelt in days of toil and stress;
But when the twilight brings it near

    Who hath not felt its tenderness? [Page 35]