Robin Badfellow

FOUR bluish eggs all in the moss !
Soft-lined home on the cherry-bough !
Life is trouble, and love is loss,—
There’s only one robin now!
You robin up in the cherry-tree,
Singing your soul away,
Great is the grief befallen me,
And how can you be so gay?
Long ago when you cried in the nest,
The last of the sickly brood,
Scarcely a pin-feather warming your breast,
Who was it brought you food ?
Who said, “ Music, come fill his throat,
Or ever the May be fled ” ?
Who was it loved the wee sweet note
And the bosom’s sea-shell red ?
Who said, “ Cherries, grow ripe and big,
Black and ripe for this bird of mine “ ?
How little bright-bosom bends the twig,
Drinking the black-heart’s wine !
Now that my days and nights are woe,
Now that I weep for love’s dear sake,
There you go singing away as though
Never a heart could break!