C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Robin Redbreast

(A Child’s Song)

From ‘Ballads and Songs’

GOOD-BY, good-by, 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,

Oh, 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,

Oh, 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,

Oh, Robin, dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,

His little heart to cheer.