The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



THE world at noon belongs to the sun,
    At eve to the home-coming herds;
But while the dew is pearly—very, very early—
    The world belongs to the birds.
 As still as in a dream lie the meadow and the stream,


    ’Neath the soaring and outpouring of the birds.

Long, long before there is life at any door,
    Or smoke at any roof, or laughing words
Of children fresh from sleeping, the outer world is steeping
    In the heaven-given rapture of the birds.


Not a thought of grief or care can enforce admission there
    Through the winging and the singing of the birds. [Page 16]