Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE BUDDING CHILD



Here are the budding boughs again,
    But where the budding child,
That from green slopes to greener shores
    Last April was beguiled?

Here is the hurrying stream again,

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    But where the hurrying feet
That vanished with the ebbing wave
    Last year when spring was sweet?

Into my life the springtime came,
    Soft-aired and thickly starred;

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Out of my life the springtime went,
    Though I prayed hard—prayed hard.

O little life, with all thy buds
    Close-folded—laid in death;
Would they had oped in bloom and fruit

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    About thy mother’s path!

Or would that Faith might build more strong
    The bridge between my heart
And thy fair dwelling-place, so thou
    And spring should not depart. [Page 27]

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