The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



THE trees are full, the winds are tame,
The fields are pictures in a frame
    Of leafy roads and fair abodes,
Steeped in content too large for name.

Across a slender bridge of night

The luminous days are swift in flight,
    As though ’twere wrong to cover song
And scent and greenness from the light.

Within the snowy clouds above
Sits viewless Peace, a brooding dove;


   For every nest there beats a breast,
For every love some answering love.

The ways are thronged with angel wings,
The heart with angel whisperings;
    And as it seems in happy dreams


The bird of gladness sings and sings. [Page 77]