Sunday, September 19, 2010

Robin Redbreast by William Allingham

Goodbye, goodbye to summer!
For summer's nearly done;

The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our thrushes now are silent,

Our swallows flown away--
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

Robin singing sweetly In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian princes,
But soon they'll turn to ghosts;
The leathery pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, '
Twill soon be winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!
And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near. T

The fireside for the cricket,
The wheat stack for the mouse,
When trembling night winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow--
Alas! in winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

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