Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE LITTLE NOON



My life that goes from dark to dark,
    From leaping light to lowering light,
Must have its little noonday spark
    Of heat and flame before the night.

My little noon! How strong it seems,

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    How dazzling fair and deep its tide,
And yet a million million beams
    Of day have burned before and died.

Long, long ago—a thousand years—
    Was Fear all white and Rage all red?

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Did Love meet Love with shining tears
    That eased the stress of words unsaid?

Two thousand years ago did Hope
    Fly outward with tumultuous breast?
Youth wake at night to sing? Age grope

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    Through gathering darkness to his rest?

Back in the ages past was sweet
    As sweet as now? Did bitterness
Flavor the very drink and meat?
    Did Rapture wear her April dress?

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Did strong men give their hands to men,
    Their hearts to women? Did the wife
Joy in her budding secret then?
    Did children throng the doors of life?

Ah, these had all their little noons,

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    Yet cradled in the earth they lie,
And still beside them Ocean croons
    Her immemorial lullaby. [Page 33]

My little noon! How pale it seems!
    Weak as a wave, faint as a sigh;

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It looks the very stuff of dreams,
    Seen in the light of noons gone by. [Page 34]