Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



At twilight on this unfamiliar street,
    With its affronts to aching ear and eye,
    I think of restful ease in fields that lie
Untrodden by a myriad fevered feet.
O green and dew and stillness! O retreat
    Thick-leaved and squirrel-haunted! By and by
    I too shall follow all the thoughts that fly
Bird-like to you, and find you, ah, how sweet.

Not yet—not yet. To-night it almost seems
    That I am hasting up the hemlock lane,

        Up to the door, the lamp, the face that pales
And warms with sudden joy. But these are dreams;
    I lean on memory’s breast, and she is fain
        To sooth my yearning with her tender tales. [Page 24]