The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



THEY journeyed east, they journeyed west,
    From sea to sea did roam;
I, changeless, chose the summer leaves,
    The winter lamps, of home.

They came and viewed my whitened hair,


    My face writ like a page,
“Ah, you,” they said, “have journeyed far
    Into the realm of age!”

A traveller against my will,
    No longer would I roam.


But where—where are the sheltering boughs?
    Where are the lamps of Home? [Page 51]