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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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William Allingham

William Allingham (19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889) was an Irish poet, diarist and editor. He wrote several volumes of lyric verse, and his poe…

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