The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE FIRE-WEED.



WHERE forest fires have swept the land,
    The musing traveller sees
These little bright-faced flowers stand
    In crowded companies.

So in the heart that grief has charred

5

    New fairness decks the sod,
And every blackened life is starred
    With tender gifts from God. [Page 11]