Robins

You have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin redbreast.

— Robins

The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,His annual visit.

— Robins

Call for the robin-red-breast, and the wren,The friendless bodies of unburied men.

— Robins

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,To deck the ground where thou art laid.

— Robins

Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth forlorn,All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast.

— Robins

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,When autumn winds are sobbing?

— Robins

Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,Of everlasting spring.

— Robins