The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

YOUR FACE.



     YOUR face, dear love, your face!
Not that which meets your fellow-man’s regard,
Polite or sympathetic, sometimes hard,
Indifferent, reticent, self-poised and still,
The keen thought-miller toiling at his mill—

5

But that which lights our small abiding-place,
     Your face, dear love, your face!

     Your face, dear love, your face!
That which, returning through the evening gloom,
You bring into this waiting, happy room.

10

The tired look, yet glad, as glad and warm
As tender sunset after hours of storm.
As if some hidden door were opened wide
Within your heart on its home-loving side,
A look that is a bodiless embrace—

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     Your face, dear love, your face! [Page 40]