Poems (Chitwood)/The Robin's Song
THE ROBIN'S SONG.
I hear a robin singing Out in the Autumn rain;My soul its way is winging To childhood's time again;I hear the south winds blowing,The rush of the harvest mowing,And the voice of the river flowing, Where lilies lived and died;I rest beneath the shadowOf the aspen in the meadow, With no hope crucified.
And now his song is over, I hear the falling rain,But I seem to smell the clover With honeyed lips again;And locks the world hath braided,And eyes the tomb hath shaded,Come back undimmed, unfaded, To my glad heart once more;And all the sky is lighter,And all the world is brighter, Until my dream is o'er.
Oh, frail ties, fair and golden, That bind us to the past—Oh, dreams when hours the olden Seem all come back at last; Slight are the spells that take usTo sweetest thoughts, and wake usFrom heartless things that make us Of sordid life the slaves;And through the world's rough bustleThere come the rush an rustle Of angel-wings, like waves.