To a Robin Redbreast
Sweet Robin, how I love to hear
Thy tuneful song this wintry day;
To me it is a sweeter song
Than any in the month of May.
Thy music is as charming now,
When not a flower or leaf is seen,
As when the daisies deck the fields,
And all the woods are robed in green.
Thou dost not droop thy merry wing,
Tho' thick and cold descends the snow;
And in thy song there is no pause,
Tho' loud the winds and tempests blow.
But yonder comes a raging storm,
And ruffled is thy crimson breast;
Then spread thy pinions, haste away,
And shelter in thy little nest.
But come again to-morrow morn,
And sing another song to me;
And at my window thou shalt find
A crumb or two of bread for thee.
Sweet Robin, how I love to hear
Thy tuneful song this wintry day;
To me it is a sweeter song
Than any in the month of May.
Thy music is as charming now,
When not a flower or leaf is seen,
As when the daisies deck the fields,
And all the woods are robed in green.
Thou dost not droop thy merry wing,
Tho' thick and cold descends the snow;
And in thy song there is no pause,
Tho' loud the winds and tempests blow.
But yonder comes a raging storm,
And ruffled is thy crimson breast;
Then spread thy pinions, haste away,
And shelter in thy little nest.
But come again to-morrow morn,
And sing another song to me;
And at my window thou shalt find
A crumb or two of bread for thee.
by "A Family Circle”
