The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

A MIDDAY IN MIDSUMMER.



THE sky’s great curtains downward steal,
     The earth’s fair company
Of trees and streams and meadows feel
     A sense of privacy.

Upon the vast expanse of heat

5

     Light-footed breezes pace;
To waves of gold they tread the wheat,
     They lift the sunflower’s face.

The cruel sun is blotted out,
     The west is black with rain,

10

The drooping leaves in mingled doubt
     And hope look up again.

The weeds and grass on tiptoe stand,
     A strange exultant thrill
Prepares the dazed, uncertain land

15

     For the wild tempest’s will. [Page 147]

The wind grows big and breathes aloud
     As it runs hurrying past;
At one sharp blow the thunder-cloud
     Lets loose the furious blast.

20


The earth is beaten, drenched and drowned,
     The elements go mad;
Swift streams of joy flow o’er the ground,
     And all the leaves are glad.

Then comes a momentary lull;

25

     The darkest clouds are furled,
And lo, new washed and beautiful
     And breathless gleams the world! [Page 148]