Robin Redbreast

 Good-bye, good-bye 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! 
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, 
O 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, 
O Robin dear! 
And a crumb of bread for Robin, 
His little heart to cheer.

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