The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



FOR the bird the rosy branch,
     For the lake the sunset dying,
For the bee its clover ranch,
     For the pine the night wind sighing;
          For every tree that is bending


          The sound of a stream descending;
For the lonely attic window
     The sky with its starry host,
And for every heart that is troubled
     The heart that needs it most.


How happy the grey fence-rail
     With a russet chipmunk running,
How grateful the windflower pale
     In the springtime noonday sunning.
          How charmed is the twilight falling


          At the voice of the robin calling;
How tenderly falls the moonlight
     On a cold and sterile coast,
And how good for the heart of the troubled
     Is the heart that needs it most. [Page 32]