The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



WHEN younger women stand a breathing space
     Before their mirrors, with an inward smile
     At burnished hair or slender throat or wile
Of dimpled chin, or nest a rose in lace
And note how perfectly it mates the face,


     I, pallid, worn and hollow-templed, pile
     My heart with thoughts of secret triumphs, while
Young hopes are mine, young bliss and youth’s light pace.

For when my lover’s eyes are fixed on me
     There are no years, no hollows, no gray days,


          No harsh realities, no endless prose;
But only flowery lanes of poetry,
     Through which we wander, lost in sweet amaze
          That life could hold such fairness near its close. [Page 171]