The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



BUT yesterday, all faint for breath,
     The summer laid her down to die;
And now her frail ghost wandereth
     In every breeze that loiters by.
Her wilted prisoners look up


     As wondering who broke their chain;
Too deep they drank of summer’s cup,
     They have no strength to rise again.

How swift the trees, their mistress gone,
     Enrobe themselves for revelry!


How wild and vagrant winds upon
     The wold are dancing merrily!
With crimson fruits and bursting nuts,
     And whirling leaves and flushing streams,
The spirit of September cuts


     Adrift from August’s languid dreams. [Page 151]

A little while the revellers
     Shall flame and flaunt and have their day,
And then will come the messengers
     Who travel on the cloudy way.


And after them a form of light,
     A sense of iron in the air,
Upon the pulse a touch of might,
     And winter’s legions everywhere. [Page 152]