The next Spring time, when the robins came home,
They sang over grasses and flowers,
That grew where the foot of the long ladder stood,
Whose top reached the heavenly bowers.
And the parents had dressed the pale, still child
For her flight to the Summer land,
In a fair white robe, with one snow-white rose
Folded tight in her pulseless hand.
And now at the foot of the ladder they sit,
Looking upward with quiet tears,