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.