The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

THE WOODSIDE WAY.



I WANDERED down the woodside way,
    Where branching doors ope with the breeze,
And saw a little child at play
    Among the strong and lovely trees.
    The dead leaves rustled to her knees;

5

Her hair and eyes were brown as they.

“O little child,” I softly said,
    “You come a long, long way to me;
The trees that tower overhead
    Are here in sweet reality,

10

    But you’re the child I used to be,
And all the leaves of May you tread.” [Page 74]