En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Upon Mrs Eliz. Wheeler, Under The Name Ofamarillis

Sweet Amarillis, by a spring's
Soft and soul-melting murmurings,
Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew
A Robin-red-breast; who at view,
Not seeing her at all to stir,
Brought leaves and moss to cover her:
But while he, perking, there did pry
About the arch of either eye,
The lid began to let out day,--
At which poor Robin flew away;
And seeing her not dead, but all disleaved,
He chirpt for joy, to see himself deceived.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Robin's Mistake

What do you think Red Robin
Found by a mow of hay?
Why, a flask brimful of liquor,
That the mowers brought that day
To slake their thirst in the hayfield.
And Robin he shook his head:
'Now, I wonder what they call it,
And how it tastes?' he said.

'I have seen the mowers drink it-
Why isn't it good for me?
So I'll just draw out the stopper
And get at the stuff, and see!'
But alas! for the curious Robin,
One draught, and he burned his throat
From his bill to his poor crop's lining,
And he could not utter a note.

And his head grew light and dizzy,
And he staggered left and right,
Tipped over the flask of brandy,
And spilled it, every mite.
But after awhile he sobered,
And quietly flew away,
And he never has tasted liquor,
Or touched it, since that day.

But I heard him say to his kindred.
In the course of a friendly chat,
'These men think they are above us,
Yet they drink such stuff as that!
Oh, the poor degraded creatures!
I am glad I am only a bird!'
Then he flew up over the meadow,
And that was all I heard.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Robin Redbreast

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, --
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.

The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow, --
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

poem by William Allingham
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The Robin

Where is the robin?
Where is the spring?
Show me your sweet red breast
that surely will bring
the warmth, the warmth.
I need to feel the warmth.

Let me see that worm pulled
from beneath the ground.
Listen with your cocked head.
See what you have found.

Hope springs eternal
for spring is on its way.
Mr. Robin Red Breast
I know you've come to say
Springtime is here.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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To Robin Red-breast

Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me;
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!

poem by Robert Herrick
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His Friends Are More Than Fond Of Robin

(carly simon)
His friends are more than fond of robin
He doesnt need to compliment them
And always as he leaves he leaves them
Feeling proud just to know him
When robin goes on holiday
Theres no-one livin in our lane
Oh yes, folks still live in our lane
But theyre not like robin
Robin, Ive never told you
But Ill be yours until were old
Please learn to call me in your dreams
The way Im lookin at you is just as it seems
Hes talked about before he gets there
Though he can never understand it
And I wouldnt like to be his alone
But Im shy and cant demand it
But when robin gives his love to others
Theres no-one living in my heart
Oh yes, I keep others in my heart
But theyre not like robin

song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I flew through the sky

I flew through the sky I knew I could fly people asked me why they all got the same answer as I flew through the night I felt like a kite with a personality of my own I flew through the sky I hear someone yell like a cry I flew through the sky it was my mom she missed me much I flew through the sky as I heard crys I lowered down and held her hand we flew through the sky.

poem by Zaraya Berry
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The Prisoner to a Robin Who Came to His Window

Welcome! welcome! little stranger,
Welcome to my lone retreat,
Here, secure from every danger,
Hop about, and chirp, and eat.
Robin! how I envy thee,
Happy child of liberty.

Hunger never shall distress thee,
While my meals one crumb afford,
Colds and cramps shall ne'er oppress thee,
Come and share my humble board:
Robin, come and live with me,
Live, yet still at liberty.

Soon shall spring, with smiles and blushes,
Steal upon the blooming year;
Then, amid the verdant bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear;
Then shall I too, joined with thee,
Taste the sweets of liberty.

Should some rough, unfeeling Dobbin,
In this iron-hearted age,
Seize thee on thy nest, my robin,
And confine thee in a cage;
Then, poor robin, think of me,
Think - and sigh for liberty.

Liberty! thou brightest treasure
In the crown of earthly joys,
Source of gladness, soul of pleasure,
All delights besides are toys:
None but prisoners like me
Know the worth of liberty.

poem by James Montgomery
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A Robin's Song

Throat attuned to noblest key,
That rejuvenates unnoted after each call note
Within the robin's inner flute's nostrils,
Without rush or rapture of wings,
Flew up unearthly, untaught music's airy voice,
Making the green dome re-echo

That gives space an expansion
Of the melting tone till sky came down
In breaths as lost cosmic chord
From the song's soul to me
With the sound of a great AMEN-
Above the thunder of hidden guns.

poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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When Spring Goes By

The winds that on the uplands softly lie,
Grow keener where the ice is lingering still
Where the first robin on the sheltered hill
Pipes blithely to the tune, "When Spring goes by!"
Hear him again, "Spring! Spring!" He seems to cry,
Haunting the fall of the flute-throated rill,
That keeps a gentle, constant, silver thrill,
While he is restless in his ecstasy.

Ah! the soft budding of the virginal woods,
Of the frail fruit trees by the vanishing lakes:
There's the new moon where the clear sunset floods,
A trace of dew upon the rose leaf sky;
And hark! what rapture the glad robin wakes-
"When Spring goes by; Spring! Spring! When
Spring goes by."

poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Robin of Pyrocanta

A spring Robin, looking around,
red breast, sure, hop hop.
A look up, around, hop.
And towards the garden, centre,
wait, look.
Then it lifts its head as if for breath,
from a pool.
And looking as if a pendulum,
observing time.
Away then, with its crumb,
to the hedgeing safely.
Towards the berried shrub,
king of red berried bush,
red breasted robin
of pyrocanta, sing.

poem by Bernard Kennedy
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle

eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out

eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''

eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''

Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''

Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''

poem by David Aoloch Bion
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First Robin of Spring

Today heard a beautiful
sound, it was up in a tree,
sitting on a branch so alone,
spring is near by.

As my first robin to
see is looking down
on me, so peacefully,
robins are a sure sign,

warm weather is on its way,
a new start, new beginning,
beautiful sounds coming
from this beautiful robin.

Winter so cold, so long,
snow almost all gone,
spring flowers just
a stone throw away.

Dear robin you bring such
joy and comfort to my
heart listening to you,
your welcome here anytime.

wrote 3-14-07

poem by Jim Foulk
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Robin

Robin perched on twisted branch;
Sun reflected branches,
Sparkling morning light
Take in the moment;
As it flies by.

Robin twittering on a twisted post;
Cool breeze blowing leaves,
Cross this winters floor.
Spend a moment,
As it flies by.

Robin perched on spade handle;
Fluffs up his breast,
Against the winters morn.
Take moment, trap it
As it flies by.

© 2012

poem by Nick Strong
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Fireflies at Night Flew

Did the pollen of the willows,
Disturb the moss on the bark?
It settled there and slept.
As the marsh in the meadow,
Kept fresh and wet.
Did the breeze sweet with lavender,
Keep the sounds rippling from the brook
More enjoyed?
It did and found my chest at rest.
Did the flight of the humming bird,
Excite my eyes with this sight?
It was peaceful to witness...
The fireflies at night flew to fly,
To twinkle bright...
Under moonlight.
As buttons were loosened and undone,
To welcome the warmth coming...
Deeply inhaling the Spring air exhaled.
Released,
And easy to breathe.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unexpected Enchantment

Enchantment of soft wonder vision sent
as Spring sun sudden melting Winter snow –
yet warmer – only tenderness should show
sweet nothings conjured to presentiment
that sing heart’s harp strings, harvest sentiment
to garner unexpected harvest glow.
But this rings platitudinous for so
especial shines one smile, one spirit bent
on gifting more than moment’s monument,
transparency between twin souls clears flow
beyond horizons most are wont to know
encouraging souls' shared enlightenment.
This sonnet leaves beginnings, weaves true end
which, rich, gilds Time itself to time extend...

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bird food

I was sitting on a bale of hay
A blue jay flew my way

Robins did their bobbing worm stab
Into the still frozen ungiving earth

I saw her blue eyes in the carolina sky
They made me want to sprout wings and go fly

Where I flew was the nest I intended to fight for
I ruffuled my feathers to say nevermore for that piper on the shore

She gave me a glance and smiled to my dismay
For today the ground thawed and food was to stay

So plentiful and fine
feathery and devine

sticky and sweet
smelling like mesquite in the new found heat

I ruffulled my feathers
Showed her my regal bald head

She gave me the bird
The one I never had seen before

It looked like a snipe
So I grabbed a pillow sheet so white

The night was dark with a sliver moon
My flashlight was working last June

I gave it a shake
As to ask if by mistake but captured a loon

If spring would bring Robin to me
Why are there beggars like sparrows
In my nesting tree?

poem by John Shea
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Robin Suicide

A robin committed suicide today
dead against my living room window pane;
flying fast in chilly mid-November;
perhaps heading south.

The sound; wings blurred; a thump!
he went straight to ground.

He should have missed the house,
it's large, the window is below the roof,
he was not flying blind
or forgot to look.

Like a jet with no flaps down,
he hit the window full-throttle;
smashing pain.

I got up took a look
expecting him to fly or stir
but he didn't move below; lay quiet.

I went down to see.
Robin, older, neck awry
didn't stir, didn't move.
no silent cry.

Neck broken.
Instant Death.
Instant Oblivion,

I looked for mourners.
There were none.

This Robin was solo in Death as we all are;
on his own.

It didn't seem fitting
to conduct a garbage-can burial,
I said a few words, cursed,
and decided to bury him in dirt.

Picked him up by his tail plumage
took him to the back yard;

dug a shallow grave, mumbled something;
lay him down in there;
patted the top of his dirt pyre
my good deed done.

A dead robin in my yard,
by my window undone.
But, I was thinking was he really a deliberate suicide?

There were clues.
How can a Robin miss
a big house,
there must be more hints
to this dead Robin mystery.

Perhaps he was an old Robin, diseased,
disoriented by Alzheimer's, or a bird pandemic;

could have been a bird fight
he fled,
The Crows around here are criminals and rough;
the Robin could have been bested in a West Side Story Bird Fight.

I rose to look for myself;
to look for clues to Robins' death,
not content for the time being
to dismiss it lightly
as dumb bird lost.

So... from Robin's height my window pane looks straight
on through the house, out through the back windows and
out into the trees in my backyard.

Ah ha; Robin's keen eyes
could have been looking at
my backyard trees,
flying straight and hard, not seeing
the window pane. Blam and there you are-
an explanation which made some sense
Robin in seeing his destination could not see what was right before him;
Death with painful irony.

His grave lay beneath those trees
he was so intent
to reach.
Dead Robin flying fast,
gaze fixed upon his own death.
How Shakespearean.

I think final destinations,
as in where we will die:
inside hospitals, on the road,
in a plane for most of us
is unknown.

My robin could see his own demise;
the means to him were clear and unclear;
my window, both opaque
and transparent
was right there before him.

Ah, again how Shakespearean.
A Robin causality;

wonder if he had kids.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Canvas Of Leaf Life Stories

restoration a kinda life season soul appeasement
light is still liquid paint shining upon autumn leaves
colours shapes shift blown across damp moss earth
tree roots snug cuddle warm under blankets of leaves

leaves to warm comfort sing mould harvest life stories
tell of spring quick at bud born to summer adventures
tell of bugs spirit climb ate birds leap skies flew sang ate
tell of glorious summer days star canvas summer nights

breeze prints encyclopedia comprehensive life whispers

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Under The Blue Skies...

Under the blue skies of her native land
She languished and began to fade...
Until surely there flew without a sound
Above me, her young shade;

But there stretches between us an uncrossable line.
In vain my feelings I tried to awaken.
The lips that brought the news were made of stone,
And I listened like a stone, unshaken.

So this is she for whom my soul once burned
In the tense and heavy fire,
Obsessed, exhausted, driven out of my mind
By tenderness and desire!

Where are the torments? Where is love? Alas!
For the unreturning days'
Sweet memory, and for the poor credulous
Shade, I find no lament, no tears.

poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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The Laws Of Nature

In the lonely wood of Clara orange breast robin pipes his song
A warning to all Clara robins 'that this here space to me belong'
And neighbour cock robin listen and the message is understood
Of old cocky himself master at the corner of the wood.

Every morning of the Spring time from branch of tall larch tree
He utter forth a warning in a song like melody
As if to say 'hey neighbour robin stay clear of my boundary'
For if you venture across my border blood will be spilt needlessly.

Even in the wilds of the wild kingdom all creatures are not wholly free
Some are bound by law of Nature to stay in one territory
And like us mortal humans they fall out and disagree
And they wage war on each other and for the loser it's die or flee.

In the lonely wood of Clara on this bright morning in May
Orange breast robin pipes his warning 'keep away oh keep away'
Keep away ye other robins from my wife and family
Dare ye venture across my border this acre belong to me.

poem by Francis Duggan
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