Ethelwyn Wetherald

(26 April 1857 - 9 March 1940 / Rockwood, Ontario)

The Screech-Owl - Poem by Ethelwyn Wetherald

Hearing the strange night-piercing sound
Of woe that strove to sing,
I followed where it hid, and found
A small soft-throated thing,
A feathered handful of gray grief,
Perched by the year's last leaf.
And heeding not that in the sky
The lamps of peace were lit,
It sent abroad that sobbing cry,
And sad hearts echoed it.
O hush, poor grief, so gray, so wild,
God still is with His child!

Comments about The Screech-Owl by Ethelwyn Wetherald

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 16, 2010

[Hata Bildir]