 | The banshee and other poems |  |
143
TO THE ROBIN.
1
Art thou there, thou dauntless singer,Robin, art thou there?
Though the Autumn with his wind-flaws
Makes the branches bare.
2
Dauntless there shall Winter find thee,Even as now thou art,
Pouring songs in such a rapture
From as great a heart!
| The banshee and other poems | |