The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE WILD JESSAMINE.

(IN THE SOUTH.)



THE sun of March is hot and bold,
     The rain of March is loud.
O Jessamine, your cups of gold
     Uplift to sun and cloud;
To song of bird, to breath of herd,

5

     To light and wind and dew,
Lift up, lift up, the golden cup,
     And bid me drink with you!

The woods of March are hung with green,
     The green is hung with bloom;

10

The olive boughs, O Jessamine,
     Let all your gold illume.
To woodland wine—the drink that pine
     And oak and yeupon brew—
Lift up, lift up, the golden cup,

15

     And let me drink with you! [Page 115]

The breath of March is violet sweet,
     The arms of March are soft;
O Jessamine, the time is fleet,
     Lift all your cups aloft!

20

To looks that make the spirit ache—
     That pierce, deny, pursue—
Lift up, lift up the golden cup,
     And I will drink with you! [Page 116]