TO A ROBIN.

By Helen Mar Johnson

Robin Red-breast on the tree,

Do you sing that song for me?

“You are listening it is true,

But I do not sing for you.

Higher yet on tiptoe rise,

Do n't you see a pair of eyes

Peeping through the pleasant shade

Which the summer leaves have made?

There they watch me all day long,

Brightening at my cheerful song,

Turning wheresoe'er I go

For the evening meal below.

Dearest mate that ever blest

Happy lover — peaceful nest,—

Guarding well our eggs of blue,

All my songs I sing for you!”