Robin on a leafless bough, Lord in Heaven, how he sings! Now cold Winter's cruel Wind Makes playmates of poor, dead things. How he sings for joy this morn! How his breast doth pant and glow! Look you how he stands and sings, Half-way up his legs in snow! If these crumbs of bread were pearls, And I had no bread at home, He should have them for that song; Pretty Robin Redbreast, Come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PROPERZIA ROSSI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS MARE LIBERUM by HENRY VAN DYKE TRAILING ARBUTUS by HENRY ABBEY PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 63. AL-HAIY by EDWIN ARNOLD |