The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE UNFORGOTTEN GRAVE.



I HEARD a blackbird whistle
    By a “forgotten grave,”
Where mullein weed and thistle
    In rank profusion wave,
As though they had been bringing

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Some gift to match the singing.
What could have been the message
    Of comfort that they gave?

They brought—these kindly neighbors
    In rustic cap and gown—

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The fruit of summer labors,
    Their blankets and their down.
O sweet must be the sleeping,
Afar from human weeping,
Of him, enwrapped in kindness

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    From weary feet to crown. [Page 35]