A robin had come to bid me good-by, And up in a tree had perched himself high; He seemed not to mind that the day was cold, But sang his sweet song the same as of old. The morning was drear and leafless the tree, But dear old robin! so happy was he! I said to him, "Robin, why do you wait? It seems to me you are staying too late. "The weather is cold, the flowers are dead, The trees all their leaves have long ago shed; You'd better be going before the snow comes, Or hungry you'll be, and looking for crumbs. "And old Jack Frost will be after your feet, Then you'll need your wing to cover your beak. So, Robin, please hurry away, or you'll freeze If you stay around here in the leafless trees." But robin sang on, and, nodding his head, "Don't worry for me," he knowingly said, "I'm not a bit 'fraid of Jack or the snow, That's why I have been in no hurry to go. "It won't take me long to fly away there, Where trees are all green and balmy the air; It's just a nice trip for this time of year, And I've made it before, so I haven't a fear." "But, Robin, you know that the rain might fall, And the day might end in a dreadful squall; So I cannot see why you have been so slow, For the rest have flown there long ago. "Say, what do you do in that far sunny clime? Does Santa Claus come there at Christmas time? You cannot go coasting, or skating on ice, So I don't think the South can be very nice." "When you are watching for Santa Claus' sleigh, He travels down South in a far differ'nt way. In a great air ship, with fairies for guides, From chimney to chimney he quietly rides. "When you are coasting adown some hill, I'll be drinking from some rippling rill; When you are freezing your feet on your skates, I'll be sailing o'er beautiful lakes. "When you are making a man out of snow, I'll be tending some wild-flower show; When you are trying your best to keep warm, I'll be away from Jack Frost's harm. "But now I am going to say good-by, So, dear little girl, for me do not cry. I'll not be afraid though the journey is long, For my body is warm and my wings are strong. "But if I grow tired and think 'twill be best, I'll stop on the way and take a short rest; And in the glad spring I'll come flying back, And others will follow right on in my track. "So watch for my coming and list for my song, For winter is short and you won't wait long"; Then he sang unto me a robin's adieu, And opened his wings and southward he flew. |