The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



SILENTLY as twilight shades woodland leaves are dropping;
    Each through stilly autumn air a winding way is taking;
    Each through yielding golden air a path of beauty making,
Loosening and wavering and exquisitely stopping.

Little fellow-travellers, gentle, frail and flaming,


    Near of kin you are to me as brother is to brother;
    I, like you, am journeying to the self-same mother,
On a path of mystery and beauty past my naming. [Page 12]