The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE SCREECH-OWL.



HEARING the strange night-piercing sound
    Of woe that strove to sing,
I followed where it hid, and found
    A small soft-throated thing,
A feathered handful of gray grief,

5

Perched by the year’s last leaf.

And heeding not that in the sky
    The lamps of peace were lit,
It sent abroad that sobbing cry,
    And sad hearts echoed it.

10

O hush, poor grief, so gray, so wild,
God still is with His child! [Page 10]