Classic Poem

Low and soft and plaintive,
Now distant and now near,
Is the voice of Robin Redbreast,
That in the tree I hear.

Sometimes 'tis but a murmur,
So gentle and so sweet,
It sounds like a dying zephyr
That echo doth repeat.

And then in bursts of music
That make the forests ring,
Comes the swelling, happy ditty
His birdship loves to sing.

And the voice is so enchanting,
So perfect and so clear,
All earth stands still to listen,
And the clouds bend low to hear.

Again he tunes his liquid note
To winds in tree-tops sighing,
Or to the sound of waters
That o'er the rocks are playing.

The sprightly, sweet ventriloquist
Deceives you as to distance,
You sometimes think him far away
Beyond alarm's resistance,

And then again, you think him near
The place you are abiding;
He's in the same place all the time,
In covert he is hiding,

And telling you in measured notes
His mate is yonder nesting,
While in the shade of leafy tree
Near by in song he's resting.

Had I so sweet a voice as his
I'd carol all day long,
Charm with my presence all mankind,
And cheer them with my song.

The woods and fields should echo far
My choicest minstrelsy,
While earth and sky would both unite
To join the revelry.