 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
145
TO A ROBIN.
Robin, robin, sing to me,
And I'll gladly suffer thee
Thus to breakfast in the tree,
On the ruddy cherry.
Soon as thou hast swallowed it,
How I love to see thee flit
To another twig, and sit
Singing there so merry!
And I'll gladly suffer thee
Thus to breakfast in the tree,
On the ruddy cherry.
Soon as thou hast swallowed it,
How I love to see thee flit
To another twig, and sit
Singing there so merry!
It was kind in thee to fly
Near my window; and to try
There to raise thy notes so high,
As to break my slumbers.
Robin, half the cheering power
Of this bright and lovely hour,
While I pluck the dewy flower,
Comes from thy sweet numbers.
Near my window; and to try
There to raise thy notes so high,
As to break my slumbers.
Robin, half the cheering power
Of this bright and lovely hour,
While I pluck the dewy flower,
Comes from thy sweet numbers.
And thou wast an honest bird,
Thus to let thy voice be heard,
Asking, in the plainest word
Thou could'st utter, whether
Those, who owned it, would allow
Thee to take upon the bough
Thy repast, and sit, as now,
Smoothing down thy feather.
Thus to let thy voice be heard,
Asking, in the plainest word
Thou could'st utter, whether
Those, who owned it, would allow
Thee to take upon the bough
Thy repast, and sit, as now,
Smoothing down thy feather.
146
Who, that hears the mellow note
From my robin's little throat
On the air of morning float,
Could desire to still her?
Who her beauty can behold,
And consent to have it told,
That he had a heart so cold,
As to try to kill her?
From my robin's little throat
On the air of morning float,
Could desire to still her?
Who her beauty can behold,
And consent to have it told,
That he had a heart so cold,
As to try to kill her?
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |