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Tangled
in Stars
Poems
by
Ethelwyn Wetherald
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GREEN
BOUGHS OF HOME
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Green boughs of home, that come between
Mine eyes and this far distant scene,
I see whene’er my thought escapes,
Your old serene familiar shapes;
Each lissom willow tree that dips
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Into
the stream her golden whips,
The sassafras beside the gate,
Where twilight strollers linger late;
The hemlock groups that dimly hold
Their own against the noonday gold,
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The
maple lines that give the view
A green or luminous avenue;
Those oldest apple trees whose forms
Have braved a hundred years of storms,
And turn a face as blithe and free
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greet their second century;
The younger orchard’s heavy edge,
Framed in the honey locust hedge;
Fruit-flushed, snow-burdened or bloom-bright,
It comes to my home-longing sight;
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The billowy woods across the road,
Where all the winds of heaven strode,
And sang in every towering stem,
Would that I were at home with them!
For under these down-bending boughs
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A
thousand tender memories house.
Oh, while your old companions roam,
Your peace be theirs, green boughs of home! [Page
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