The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



THE phantom time of day is here.
     Some spirit from diviner air
Unto our blindness draweth near,
     And in our musing seems to share.

Who hath not in a darkening wood,


     At twilight’s moment, dimly known
That all his hurts were understood
      By some near presence not his own;

That all his griefs were comforted,
     His aspirations given release;


And that upon his troubled head
     Was laid the viewless hand of Peace.

Too sure for doubt, too sweet for fear,
     Unfelt in days of toil and stress;
But when the twilight brings it near


     Who hath not felt its tenderness? [Page 99]