 | Poems in Love's looking glass |  |
107
THE ROBIN IN JANUARY
‘Hey robin, jolly robin’
Green again, O green to-day
Garden lawn, and mossy park;
They have laid a while away
Winter's ermine cloak; and hark,
Hark, our robin, who but he?
Singing blithe as blithe can be.
Garden lawn, and mossy park;
They have laid a while away
Winter's ermine cloak; and hark,
Hark, our robin, who but he?
Singing blithe as blithe can be.
'Tis not passion's melting note,
Though his breast be red like fire;
Nor can his, like thrush's throat,
Raise to rapture each desire:
'Tis a song of simplest joy,
Like the laughter of a boy.
Though his breast be red like fire;
Nor can his, like thrush's throat,
Raise to rapture each desire:
'Tis a song of simplest joy,
Like the laughter of a boy.
Robin, keep thy happy heart,
Through the year so well begun:
Live and love, unheard, apart.
So may we, when Summer's done,
Tired with art and passion-spent,
Hear and share thy sweet content.
Through the year so well begun:
Live and love, unheard, apart.
So may we, when Summer's done,
Tired with art and passion-spent,
Hear and share thy sweet content.
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