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Tangled
in Stars
Poems
by
Ethelwyn Wetherald
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THE
PASTURE FIELD
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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
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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,
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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
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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,
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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]
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