Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



When spring has burned
    The ragged robe of winter, stitch by stitch,
And deftly turned
    To moving melody the wayside ditch,
The pale-green pasture field behind the bars
Is goldened o’er with dandelion stars.

When summer keeps
    Quick pace with sinewy, white-shirted arms,
And daily steeps
    In sunny splendor all her spreading farms,

The pasture field is flooded foamy white
With daisy faces looking at the light.

When autumn lays
    Her golden wealth upon the forest floor,
And all the days

    Look backward at the days that went before,
A pensive company, the asters, stand,
Their blue eyes brightening the pasture land.

When winter lifts
    A sounding trumpet to his strenuous lips,

And shapes the drifts
    To curves of transient loveliness, he slips
Upon the pasture’s ineffectual brown
A swan-soft vestment delicate as down. [Page 22]