06 November 2013

Robin's Come - A May 1857 Poem

From the elm tree's topmost bough,
Hark! the robin's early song,
Telling one all that now
Merry Spring-time hastes along.
Welcome tidings dost thou bring,
Little harbinger of Spring!
Robin's come.
Of the Winter we are weary,
Weary of its frost and snow,
Longing for the sunshine cheery,
And the brooklet's gurgling flow.
Gladly then we hear thee sing,
The reville of the Spring.
Robin's come.
Ring it out o'er hill and plain,
Through the garden's lonely bowers.
Till the green leaves dance again,
Till the air is sweet with flowers;
Wake the cowslip by the rill,
Wake the yellow daffodil.
Robin's come.
Then, as thou were wont of yore,
Build they nest, and rear they young,
Close behind our cottage door,
In the woodbine leaves among;
Hurt or harm thou need not fear.
Nothing rude shall venture near.
Robin's come.
Swinging still o'er yonder lane,
Robin answers merrily;
Ravished by the sweet refrain,
Alice clasps her hands in glee,
Shouting from the open door,
With her clear voice, o'er and o'er,
"Robin's come!"
May 14, 1857. Farmer's Cabinet 55(41): 1.