The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

TO FEBRUARY.



O MASTER-BUILDER, blustering as you go
     About your giant work, transforming all
     The empty woods into a glittering hall,
And making lilac lanes and footpaths grow
As hard as iron under stubborn snow,

5

     Though every fence stand forth a marble wall,
     And windy hollows drift to arches tall,
There comes a might that shall your might o’erthrow.

Build high your white and dazzling palaces,
     Strengthen your bridges, fortify your towers,

10

          Storm with a loud and a portentous lip;
And April with a fragmentary breeze,
     And half a score of gentle golden hours,
          Shall leave no trace of your stern workmanship. [Page 192]