Robin Redbreast

William Allingham

   Good-bye, good-bye 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 scanty 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 welaway! my Robin, 
       For pinching times are near. 

   The fireside for the Cricket, 
       The wheatstack 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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