Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE INDIGO BIRD



            
    When I see,
High on the tip-top twig of a tree,
Something blue by the breezes stirred,
But so far up that blue is blurred,
So far up no green leaf flies
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’Twixt its blue and the blue of the skies,
Then I know, ere a note be heard,
That is naught but the Indigo bird.

Blue on the branch and blue in the sky,
And naught between but the breezes high,

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And naught so blue by the breezes stirred
As the deep, deep blue of the Indigo bird.

               When I hear
A song like a bird laugh, blithe and clear,
As though of some airy jest he had heard

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The last and the most delightful word,
A laugh as fresh in the August haze
As it was in the full-voiced April days,
Then I know that my heart is stirred
By the laugh-like song of the Indigo bird.
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Joy in the branch and joy in the sky,
And naught between but the breezes high;
And naught so glad on the breezes heard
As the gay, gay note of the Indigo bird. [Page 31]