Tuesday, 16 September 2014

Everyone off to find a place in the sun, but not the Robin

There is excited chattering in the hedgerows. Birds are lining up on the telegraph wires and meeting in groups on our roof.  Every so often, if you look up you can catch the sight of a flock of birds flying in formation on the start of their journey to their winter residence.Isn't it a wonder how they know that Winter is round the corner and they must move South for the Winter. There is one bird though that keeps us company all through the Winter. He adorns many a Christmas card  and with his bright red breast brings welcome colour to the landscape. Of course it is the Robin. A friend of mine loves painting Robins and I know that she sometimes reads my blog so here is a poem dedicated to her and her beautiful Robin paintings. It is by William Allingham (1824 - 1889) an Irish poet.

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!
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 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 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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