Robin's Rain-Song

Little house in mountains

O Robin, pipe no more of rain,
'Tis four days since we saw the sun,
And still the misty window-pane
Is loud with drops that leap and run.

Four days ago the sky was clear,
But when my mother heard you call,
She said, "That's Robin's rain-song, dear:
Oh, well he knows when rain will fall!"

Fair was the morning, and I wept
Because she would not let me stray
Into the woods for flowers, but kept
My feet from wandering away.

And I was vexed to hear you cry
So sweetly of the coming storm,
And watched with brimming eyes the sky
Grow cold and dim from clear and warm.

It seemed to me you brought it all
With that incessant, plaintive note;
And still you call the drops to fall
Upon your brown and scarlet coat.

How nice to be a bird like you,
And let the rain come pattering down,
Nor mind a bit to be wet through,
Nor fear to spoil one's only gown!

But since I cannot be a bird,
Sweet Robin, pipe no more of rain!
Your merrier music is preferred;
Forget at last that sad refrain!

And tell us of the sunshine, dear —
I'm wild to be abroad again,
Seeking for blossoms far and near:
O Robin, pipe no more of rain!


 Before it is raining the air becomes fresh with every blowing of the wind. And suddenly you hear cheerful greeting song of the little robin...

It is difficult to see where the redbreast is. So small, but his song is so loud!.. Maybe only birds can enjoy any weather and find happiness even in the coming of rain.

© Katia Marynowska.

* Poem by Celia Thaxter (1835-1894).

# Painting "Little House in Mountains" by Alfred Wahlberg (1834-1906).

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