Robin song

EARLY SPRING

Robin on a leafless bough,

Lord in heaven, how he sings.

 W.H. Davies

SUMMER

The merry Larke hir mattins sings alofy,

The thrush replyes, the Mauis descant playes,

The Ouzell shrills, the Ruddock warbles soft,

So goodly all agree with sweet consent,

To this dayes merriment.

Edmund Spenser

AUTUMN

And now with treble soft

The redbrest whistles from a garden croft.

John Keats

MID WINTER

The redbreast warbles still but is content

With slender notes and more than half suppressed;

Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light,

Fron spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes

From many a twig the pendent drops of ice,

That tinkle in the withered leaves below,

Stillness accompanied with sound so soft

Charms more than silence.

William Cowper