  Low and soft and plaintive, Now distant and now near, Is the voice of Robin Redbreast, That in the tree I hear. Sometimes 'tis but a murmur, So gentle and so sweet, It sounds like a dying zephyr That echo doth repeat. And then in bursts of music That make the forests ring, Comes the swelling, happy ditty His birdship loves to sing. And the voice is so enchanting, So perfect and so clear, All earth stands still to listen, And the clouds bend low to hear. Again he tunes his liquid note To winds in tree-tops sighing, Or to the sound of waters That o'er the rocks are playing. The sprightly, sweet ventriloquist Deceives you as to distance, You sometimes think him far away Beyond alarm's resistance, And then again, you think him near The place you are abiding; He's in the same place all the time, In covert he is hiding, And telling you in measured notes His mate is yonder nesting, While in the shade of leafy tree Near by in song he's resting. Had I so sweet a voice as his I'd carol all day long, Charm with my presence all mankind, And cheer them with my song. The woods and fields should echo far My choicest minstrelsy, While earth and sky would both unite To join the revelry. |
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