The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

IN THE GRASS.



FACE downward on the grass in reverie,
     I found how cool and sweet
Are the green glooms that often thoughtlessly
     I tread beneath my feet.

In this strange mimic wood where grasses lean—

5

     Elf trees untouched of bark—
I heard the hum of insects, saw the sheen
     Of sunlight framing dark,

And felt with thoughts I cannot understand,
     And know not how to speak,

10

A daisy reaching up its little hand
     To lay it on my cheek. [Page 75]