The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

AS LEAVES IN THE STREAM.



AS dead leaves lie beneath the stream
    That merrily doth sing,
And give its flow a darker gleam
    By their deep coloring,

So every stream of joy that starts

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    Hath its remembered dead,
And love runs richer in our hearts
    Because of sweetness fled. [Page 11]