The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE FIRST BLUEBIRD.



          FIRST, first!
That was thy song that burst
Out of the spring of thy heart,
Incarnate spring that thou art!
Now must the winter depart,

5

Since to his age-heavy ear
Fluteth the youth of the year.

          Low, low,
Delicate, musical, slow;
Lighten, O heaven that lowers,

10

Blossom, ye fields, into flowers,
Thicken, ye branches, to bowers;
And thou, O my heart, like a stone,
Wilt thou keep winter alone? [Page 68]