The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



WHEN spring has burned
     The ragged robe of winter, stitch by stitch,
And deftly turned
     To moving melody the wayside ditch,
The pale-green pasture field behind the bars


Is goldened o’er with dandelion stars.

When summer keeps
     Quick pace with sinewy, white-shirted arms,
And daily steeps
     In sunny splendor all her spreading farms,


The pasture field is flooded foamy white
With daisy faces looking at the light.

When autumn lays
     Her golden wealth upon the forest floor,
And all the days


     Look backward at the days that went before,
A pensive company the asters stand,
Their blue eyes brightening the pasture land. [Page 89]

When winter lifts
     A sounding trumpet to his strenuous lips,


And shapes the drifts
     To curves of transient loveliness, he slips
Upon the pasture’s ineffectual brown
A swan-soft vestment delicate as down. [Page 90]