03 February 2014

The Robin's Good-by

By Frank J. Ottarson.
"'Tis Autumn, Robin-Redbreast said;
"I may not longer tarry here;
The sky is gray, the flower are dead,
And nature mourns the flying year.
When Spring returns, my mate and I
Will come again to rear our young,
And vocalize a melody
That never poet wrote nor sung.
"'Tis Autumn, and the sun is dim,
As if his fire was merely gone;
The breeze wails out a mournful hymn,
And all the land is sad and lone.
'Tis Autumn, and the falling leaves
Sail slowly down upon the wind,
Leaving, like Death, when he bereaves
The living germ of Hope behind.
"'Tis Autumn: over land and main
A veil of azure haze is thrown,
As if the parent Heaven again
Had claimed our planet for its own,
And the blue vestments of the sky
For dim, uncertain boundaries given,
Till scarcely can the straining eye
Tell which is earth or which is heaven.
"'Tis autumn : even Greenwood's green,
Wherein we built out little nest —
For danger sure is never seen
Where loved ones lie in sacred rest —
Her green is faded: winter's snow
Thick o'er the ground will so soon be teased,
To shield the graves we use below
From bitter wind and biting frost.
"'Tis Autumn : we must hie away.
Nor fold a wing by day or night
Until we hear the Gulf waves say,
'Come, welcome Robin, here alight;
Here, where the roses blush and glow
All through the warm and drowsy year,
And rich magnolia perfumes flow
In floods upon the atmosphere.
"'Tis Autumn : Bobolink has come;
The mocking-bird your welcome sings;
Bob tells about his northern home,
And pleasant news of Robin brings, '"
And Robin said , "The Southern wind
Is whispering, 'Birdie, do not wait:
Tell sparrow sweet your nest to mind,
And hasten — it is getting late.'
Harper's Bazaar.
September 25, 1873. Woodstock Spirit of the Age 33(49): 4.>