SHRILL cocks salute the tardy dawn
That glimmers o’er the landscape blurred;
Somewhere upon the barren lawn
Is piping one lorn little bird—
A robin red-breast, loath to leave,
Although he only stays to grieve.
The thresher’s flail rings clear and loud
All day long from the open barn;
The pigeons on the rafters crowd,
Torn is the spider’s silvery yarn.