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Poem by Robert Seymour Bridges


A Robin


Flame-throated robin on the topmost bough
  Of the leafless oak, what singest thou?
Hark! he telleth how
  Spring is coming now; Spring is coming now.

Now ruddy are the elm-tops against the blue sky,
  The pale larch donneth her jewelry;
Red fir and black fir sigh,
  And I am lamenting the year gone by.

The bushes where I nested are all cut down,
  They are felling the tall trees one by one,
And my mate is dead and gone,
  In the winter she died and left me lone.

She lay in the thicket where I fear to go;
  For when the March-winds after the snow
The leaves away did blow,
  She was not there, and my heart is woe:

And sad is my song, when I begin to sing,
  As I sit in the sunshine this merry spring:
Like a withered leaf I cling
  To the white oak-bough, while the wood doth ring.

Spring is coming now, the sun again is gay;
  Each day like a last springs happy day.
Thus sang he; then from his spray
  He saw me listening and flew away.



Robert Seymour Bridges


Robert Seymour Bridges's other poems:
  1. The Palm Willow
  2. January
  3. Sometimes When My Lady Sits by Me
  4. I Found To-day out Walking
  5. Poor Withered Rose and Dry


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