Robin Redbreast

Goodbye, goodbye 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,
O Robin dear!
Robing 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 leathery pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It`s Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
"Twill soon be winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.
The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatsack 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,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.