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The Robin Redbreast. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)
by William Lisle BowlesPoor Robin sits and sings alone
When showers of driving sleet,
By the cold winds of winter blown,
The cottage casement beat.
Come, let him share our chimney nook,
And dry his dripping wing;
See, little Mary shuts her book,
And cries, "Poor Robin, sing!"
Methinks I hear his faint reply:
When cowslips deck the plain,
The lark shall carol in the sky,
And I shall sing again.
But in the cold and wintry day,
To you I owe a debt,
That in the sunshine of the May
I never can forget!