The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

YOUTH AND AGE.



BENT over some heroic book,
    In nights gone by, his boyish head
So filled with eager dreams he took
    Them with him to his bed.
The splendid strife, the rush of life,

5

    The trump of fame, inspiring, strong,
His heart so stirred he scarcely heard
    His mother’s slumber song.

But now the glowing book of life
    Is falling from his nerveless hand;

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Gone are the splendors of the strife,
    The conquering hopes—a daring band;
No plaudits pierce those aged ears,
    No trump of fame. Though loud and strong,
He only hears across the years

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    His mother’s slumber song. [Page 36]