The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE LAST ROBIN.



THE spring was red with robins,
    The summer gay with their song;
What doest thou here at the bleak of the year,
    When the frost is sharp and strong,
When even the red from the leaves has fled,

5

    And the stormy night is long?

Silent, alone, thou givest
    An April gleam to the lane;
A sense of spring to the sorrowing
    Of autumn wind and rain.

10

Dear gleam, good-bye!  the dark is nigh;
    Good-bye—come back again! [Page 9]