The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



WHEN spring unbound comes o’er us like a flood
    My spirit slips its bars,
And thrills to see the trees break into bud
    As skies break into stars;

And joys that earth is green with eager grass,


    The heavens gray with rain,
And quickens when the spirit breezes pass,
    And turn and pass again;

And dreams upon frog melodies at night,
    Bird ecstasies at dawn,


And wakes to find sweet April at her height
    And May still beckoning on.

And feels its sordid work, its empty play,
    Its failures and its stains
Dissolved in blossom dew, and washed away


    In delicate spring rains. [Page 66]