Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE FIRST BLUEBIRD



           First, first!
That was thy song that burst
Out of the spring of thy heart,
Incarnate spring that thou art!
Now must the winter depart,
5
Since to his age-heavy ear
Fluteth the youth of the year.

           Low, low,
Delicate, musical, slow;
Lighten, O heaven that lowers,

10
Blossom, ye fields into flowers,
Thicken, ye branches to bowers;
And thou, O my heart, like a stone,
Wilt thou keep winter alone?

           Sweet, sweet,

15
But there is lead in the feet,
No spring thoughts in the head,
But wintry burdens instead.
Nay, they are gone, they have fled,
Fled while the bluebird sung;
20
The earth and the heart are young. [Page 12]