 | Poems by Celia Thaxter |  |
175
THE ROBIN.
In the tall elm-tree sat the Robin bright,
Through the rainy April day,
And he caroled clear with a pure delight,
In the face of the sky so gray.
And the silver rain through the blossoms dropped
And fell on the robin's coat,
And his brave red breast, but he never stopped
Piping his cheerful note;
Through the rainy April day,
And he caroled clear with a pure delight,
In the face of the sky so gray.
And the silver rain through the blossoms dropped
And fell on the robin's coat,
And his brave red breast, but he never stopped
Piping his cheerful note;
For O, the fields were green and glad,
And the blissful life that stirred
In the earth's wide breast, was full and warm
In the heart of the little bird.
The rain-cloud lifted, the sunset light
Streamed wide over valley and hill,
As the plains of heaven the land grew bright,
And the warm south wind was still.
And the blissful life that stirred
In the earth's wide breast, was full and warm
In the heart of the little bird.
The rain-cloud lifted, the sunset light
Streamed wide over valley and hill,
As the plains of heaven the land grew bright,
And the warm south wind was still.
Then loud and clear called the happy bird,
And rapturously he sang,
Till wood and meadow and river side
With jubilant echoes rang.
But the sun dropped down in the quiet west,
And he hushed his song at last;
All nature softly sank to rest,
And the April day had passed.
And rapturously he sang,
Till wood and meadow and river side
With jubilant echoes rang.
176
And he hushed his song at last;
All nature softly sank to rest,
And the April day had passed.
| Poems by Celia Thaxter | |