Tangled in Stars

Poems by
Ethelwyn Wetherald



Tangled in stars and spirit-steeped in dew,
    The city worker to his desk returns,
    While ’mid the stony streets remembrance burns,
Like honeysuckle running through and through
A barren hedge. He lifts his load anew,
    And carries it amid the thronging ferns
    And crowding leaves of memory, while yearns
Above him once again the open blue.

His letter-littered desk goes up in flowers;
    The world recedes, and backward dreamily

        Come days and nights, like jewels rare and few.
And while the consciousness of those bright hours
    Abides with him, we know him yet to be
        Tangled in stars and spirit-steeped in dew. [Page 9]