Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

NOVEMBER



The old year’s withered face is here again,
    The twilight look, the look of reverie,
    The backward gazing eyes that seem to see
The full-leaved robin-haunted June remain
Through devastating wind and ruinous rain;
5
    A form that moves a little wearily,
    As one who treads the path of memory
Beneath a long year’s load of stress and stain.

Good-night! good-night! the dews are thick and damp,
    Yet still she babbles on, as loath to go,

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        Of apple buds and blooms that used to be,
Till Indian Summer brings the bedside lamp,
    And underneath a covering of snow
        She dreams again of April ecstasy. [Page 40]