The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



NEAR the slim bridge at Minnehaha Falls,
     Below the impetuous current’s foaming roar,
     I followed down a path that ran before
And led me into Summer’s sylvan halls.
Full-boughed and mossy were the mist-clad walls,


     While in diminished cadence came the pour,
     Attenuated ever more and more
Until it seemed the least of elfin calls.

So is it with the turbulent stream of life:
     In youth it storms the soul; grows less and less


          As down the middle years our footsteps wend.
We lose at first the tumult and the strife,
     Then find with the departing urge and stress
          Pure melody before the silent end. [Page 172]