Then, as thou wert wont of yore, In the woodbine leaves among; Swinging still o'er yonder lane Alice claps her hands in glee, Calling from the open door, With her soft voice, o'er and o'er, Robin's come! William Warner Caldwell [1823 ROBIN'S SECRET 'Tis the blithest, bonniest weather for a bird to flirt a feather, For a bird to trill and warble, all his wee red breast a-swell. I've a secret. You may listen till your blue eyes dance and glisten, Little maiden, but I'll never, never, never, never tell. You'll find no more wary piper, till the strawberries wax riper In December than in June-aha! all up and down the dell, Where my nest is set, for certain, with a pink and snowy curtain East or west, but which I'll never, never, never, never tell. You may prick me with a thistle, if you ever hear me whistle How my brooding mate, whose weariness my carols sweet dispel, All between the clouds and clover, apple-blossoms drooping over, Twitters low that I must never, never, never, never tell. Robin Redbreast 1515 Oh, I swear no closer fellow stains his bill in cherries mellow. Tra la la! and tirra lirra! I'm the jauntiest sentinel, Perched beside my jewel-casket, where lie hidden-don't you ask it, For of those three eggs I'll never, never, never, never tell. Chirp! chirp! chirp! alack! for pity! Who hath marred my merry ditty? Who hath stirred the scented petals, peeping in where robins dwell? Oh, my mate! May Heaven defend her! Little maidens' hearts are tender, And I never, never, never, never, never, meant to tell. Katharine Lee Bates [1859 ROBIN REDBREAST SWEET Robin, I have heard them say Sweet Robin, would that I might be George Washington Doane [1799-1859] ROBIN REDBREAST GOOD-BY, good-by to Summer! For Summer's nearly done; Cool breezes in the sun; Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away,- O Robin dear! In the falling of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange, But soon they'll turn to ghosts; 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? The fireside for the cricket, The wheat-stack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle 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! William Allingham (1824-1889] THE SANDPIPER ACROSS the narrow beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I, And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. The Sea-Mew The wild waves reach their hands for it, Above our heads the sullen clouds - Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach,One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, He scans me with a fearless eye: Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 1517 Celia Thaxter [1835-1894] THE SEA-MEW How joyously the young sea-mew Familiar with the waves and free And such a brightness in his eye, We were not cruel, yet did sunder His white wing from the blue waves under, We bore our ocean bird unto But flowers of earth were pale to him The green trees round him only made Then One her gladsome face did bring, In ocean's stead his heart to move |