The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

A WINTER PICTURE.



AN air as sharp as steel, a sky
     Pierced with a million points of fire;
The level fields, hard, white and dry,
     A road as straight and tense as wire.

No hint of human voice or face

5

     In frost below or fire above,
Save where the smoke’s blue billowing grace
     Flies flag-like from the roofs of love. [Page 158]