The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



HERE is the crowning satire,
    In a world where springtime wreathes
The naked forest arches
    With a loveliness that breathes;
Where a myriad blooms are thickening


    With beauty Earth’s old crust,
That men are chasing dollars,
    And the women chasing dust.

The splendor of a palace
    Is naught to that of a hut


Rained on by the gold of autumn,
    With a door that is never shut;
With Peace for the nearest neighbor,
    And Joy and Love and Trust
Singing in woods and waters,


    Far off from dollars and dust. [Page 46]

Ah, would it be a wonder
    If the gods above us bowed
Should rebuke us in the thunder,
    Should scoff at us in the cloud,


Should mock at us in laughter,
    That swept from earth in a gust
The men that are chasing dollars
    And the women chasing dust!

O housekeepers peerless and cheerless,


    And men who are gluttons of gold,
The only joy that is tearless
    Can never be swept up nor sold;
It beckons to us from the branches,
    It yearns to us from the blue:


O seekers of dust and dollars,
    It is your dream come true! [Page 47]