The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



HERE in the crowded city’s busy street,
     Swayed by the eager, jostling, hasting throng,
     Where Traffic’s voice grows harsher and more strong,
I see within the stream of hurrying feet
A company of trees in their retreat,


     Dew-bathed, dream-wrapped, and with a thrush’s song
     Emparadising all the place along
Whose paths I hear the pulse of Beauty beat.

’Twas yesterday I walked beneath the trees,
     To-day I tread the city’s stony ways;


          And still the spell that o’er my spirit came
Turns harshest sounds to shy bird ecstasies,
     Pours scent of pine through murky chimney haze,
          And gives each careworn face a woodland frame.
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