70 Cheerful Robin Poems to Brighten Our lives

The mythology and folklore surrounding the robin, a bird that is beloved in Britain, are as vivid as its breast.

This small bird has served as a metaphor for luck, joy, and rebirth for ages. It has also occasionally served as a courier for loved ones who have departed.

Whatever values people have, it is hard to dismiss the robin’s profound symbolism in poetry.

This essence is best captured in robin poems found in a large number.

Poets have used the robin bird as a muse to create beautiful poems about robins that we will share with you.

Let’s dive right in!

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Famous Robin Poems

The idiom “When robins appear, loved ones are near” makes reference to the idea that robins are messengers. There are a lot of famous poems for robin that use this bird for its rich symbolism.

1. Tampa Robins

       by Sidney Lanier

The robin laughed in the orange-tree:

“Ho, windy North, a fig for thee:

While breasts are red and wings are bold

And green trees wave us globes of gold,

Time’s scythe shall reap but bliss for me

Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree.

“Burn, golden globes in leafy sky,

My orange-planets: crimson I

Will shine and shoot among the spheres

(Blithe meteor that no mortal fears)

And thrid the heavenly orange-tree

With orbits bright of minstrelsy.

“If that I hate wild winter’s spite —

The gibbet trees, the world in white,

The sky but gray wind over a grave —

Why should I ache, the season’s slave?

I’ll sing from the top of the orange-tree

Gramercy, winter’s tyranny.’

“I’ll south with the sun, and keep my clime;

My wing is king of the summer-time;

My breast to the sun his torch shall hold;

And I’ll call down through the green and gold

Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me,

Bestir thee under the orange-tree.’”

2. Why Robin’s Breast is Red

       by James R. Randall

The Saviour bowed beneath his cross,

Clomb up the dreary hill,

While from his agonizing brow

Ran many a crimson rill.

The brawny Roman thrust him on

With unrelenting hand,

Till, staggering slowly ‘mid the crowd,

He sank upon the sand.

A little song-bird hovering near,

That immemorial day,

Fluttered around and strove to wrench

One single thorn away.

The cruel spike impaled his breast,

And thus, ’tis sweetly said,

The robin has his silver vest

Incarnadined with red!

Ah, Jesu! Jesu! Prince of Peace,

My dolor and my sighs

Reveal the lesson taught by this

Winged Ishmael of the skies.

I, in the palace of delight,

Or caverns of despair,

Have plucked no thorns from thy dear brow,

But planted thousands there!

3. The Robin

       by John G. Whittier

My old Welsh neighbor over the way

Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,

Pushed from her ears the locks of gray,

And listened to hear the robin sing.

Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped,

And, cruel in sport as boys will be,

Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped

From bough to bough in the apple-tree.

“Nay!” said the grandmother; “have you not heard,

My poor, bad boy! of the fiery pit,

And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird

Carries the water that quenches it?

“He brings cool dew in his little bill,

And lets it fall on the souls of sin:

You can see the mark on his red breast still

Of fires that scorch as he drops it in.

“My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast-burned bird,

Singing so sweetly from limb to limb,

Very dear to the heart of Our Lord

Is he who pities the lost like Him!”

“Amen!” I said to the beautiful myth;

“Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well:

Each good thought is a drop wherewith

To cool and lessen the fires of hell.

“Prayers of love like rain-drops fall,

Tears of pity are cooling dew,

And dear to the heart of Our Lord are all

Who suffer like Him in the good they do!”

4. The Robin

       by Jones Very

Thou need’st not flutter from thy half-built nest,

Whene’er thou hear’st man’s hurrying feet go by,

Fearing his eye for harm may on thee rest,

Or he thy young unfinished cottage spy;

All will not heed thee on that swinging bough,

Nor care that round thy shelter spring the leaves,

Nor watch thee on the pool’s wet margin now

For clay to plaster straws thy cunning weaves;

All will not hear thy sweet out-pouring joy,

That with morn’s stillness blends the voice of song,

For over-anxious cares their souls employ,

That else upon thy music borne along

And the light wings of heart-ascending prayer

Had learned that Heaven is pleased thy simple joys to share.

5. Flower and Thorn

       by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Four bluish eggs all in the moss!

Soft-lined home on the cherry-bough!

Life is trouble, and love is loss—

There’s only one robin now.

O robin up in the cherry-tree,

Singing your soul away,

Great is the grief befallen me,

And how can you be so gay?

Long ago when you cried in the nest,

The last of the sickly brood,

Scarcely a pinfeather warming your breast,

Who was it brought you food?

Who said, “Music, come fill his throat,

Or ever the May be fled”?

Who was it loved the low sweet note

And the bosom’s sea-shell red?

Who said, “Cherries, grow ripe and big,

Black and ripe for this bird of mine”?

How little bright-bosom bends the twig,

Sipping the black-heart’s wine!

Now that my days and nights are woe,

Now that I weep for love’s dear sake—

There you go singing away as though

Never a heart could break!

6. To the Robin

       by James W. Whilt

Dear little, sweet little robin

Dressed in nice grey coat

With your warm red sweater about you

Drawn close around your throat.

With your bright pink stockings,

That you keep so clean;

Don’t you ever stain them

In the grass so green?

Eyes so dark and beautiful,

Bright as they can be,

Can spy a worm upon the ground,

And you high in a tree.

And the songs you sing me!

I remember every note,

All so sweet and silver pure,

Warbled from your throat.

When you sing at break of dawn

Heralding the day,

Tell of hearts so young and true

With your sweetest lay.

Then again at eventide

When the sun is low

You sing your sweetest lullaby

Crooning, soft and low.

Then it starts me thinking

Of the One above

Who put you here to sing to us

Telling of His love.

7. The Robin Redbreast

       by Mathilde Blind

The year’s grown songless! No glad pipings thrill

The hedge-row elms, whose wind-worn branches shower

Their leaves on the sere grass, where some late flower

In golden chalice hoards the sunlight still.

Our summer guests, whose raptures used to fill

Each apple-blossomed garth and honeyed bower,

Have in adversity’s inclement hour

Abandoned us to bleak November’s chill.

But hearken! Yonder russet bird among

The crimson clusters of the homely thorn

Still bubbles o’er with little rills of song—

A blending of sweet hope and resignation:

Even so, when life of love and youth is shorn,

One friend becomes its last, best consolation.

8. Bleak Weather

       by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Dear Love, where the red lilies blossomed and grew

The white snows are falling;

And all through the woods where I wandered with you

The loud winds are calling;

And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,

Neath the oak, you remember,

O’er hilltop and forest has followed the June

And left us December.

He has left like a friend who is true in the sun

And false in the shadows;

He has found new delights in the land where he’s gone,

Greener woodlands and meadows.

Let him go! what care we? let the snow shroud the lea,

Let it drift on the heather;

We can sing through it all: I have you, you have me,

And we’ll laugh at the weather.

The old year may die and a new year be born

That is bleaker and colder:

It cannot dismay us; we dare it, we scorn,

For our love makes us bolder.

Ah, Robin! sing loud on your far distant lea,

You friend in fair weather!

But here is a song sung that’s fuller of glee

By two warm hearts together.

9. The Boy and the Robin

       by Rev. F. C. Woodworth

So now, pretty Robin, you’ve come to my door,

I wonder you never have ventured before!

’Tis likely you thought I would do you some harm,

But pray, sir, what cause could there be for alarm?

You seem to be timid—I’d like to know why;

Did I ever hurt you? what makes you so shy?

You shrewd little rogue! I’ve a mind, ere you go,

To tell you a thing it concerns you to know.

You think I have never discovered your nest;

’Tis hid pretty snugly, that must be confessed;

Ha! ha! how the boughs are entwined all around!

No wonder you thought it would never be found.

You’re as cunning a rogue as ever I knew;

And yet—ha! ha! ha!—I’m as cunning as you?

I know all about your, nice home on the tree—

’Twas nonsense to try and conceal it from me.

Go home, where your mate and your little ones dwell;

Though I know where they are, yet I never will tell;

Nobody shall injure the leaf-covered nest,

For sacred to me is the place of your rest.

Adieu! for you want to be flying away,

And it would be too cruel to ask you to stay;

But come in the morning—come early, and sing;

You shall see what I’ll give you, sweet warbler of spring.

10. Witness

       by Andreas Simic

I am a WITNESS to God’s work

“graced with nature at my doorstep”

the full calamity of life on display

from the beautiful to the devastating

watching in amazement & awe

the dance of love bird’s in my driveway

nesting robins in my cedar hedge

magnificent eagles chased by small birds

osprey diving into the lake for small fry

aerial acrobatics of hawks vying for mice

the specter of wild turkeys chased by predators

a mating game complete with plumage

eggs speckled in blue or the colors of a rainbow

the lonely loon drifting on gentle waves

humming birds suckling on a feeder

sandy beaches filled with goose poop

roadkill tragedies

survival of the fittest victims

such is Life

the good, the chaotic

and the unpalatable

11. Pure Love for Spring

       by Caren Krutsinger 

whimsical singing

tweets and peeps and caws echo

song bird orchestra

such spring time magic

a delightful lullaby

pure love for season

sun shines so brightly

warming our ponds and meadows

baby robins song

12. Cardinal Sins

       by Joy A. Burki-Watson

They come in flocks

To wine and dine!

Where worms

are plump

and crickets jump

the robins find

them tastin fine

where holly berries

grow like cherries

we’ll watch again

as cardinal sins

find them

drunk on wine!

Beautiful Robin Poems

The robin bird stands as a symbol of change or a shift to the beautiful and vibrant spring season after a dull and harsh winter. Since it is a harbinger of ethereal beauty many beautiful poetries about robin have been created.

1. What Robin Told

       by George Cooper

How do the robins build their nests?

Robin Redbreast told me.

First a wisp of amber hay

In a pretty round they lay;

Then some shreds of downy floss,

Feathers too and bits of moss,

Woven with a sweet, sweet song,

This way, that way, and across,

That’s what Robin told me.

Where do the robins hide their nests?

Robin Redbreast told me.

Up among the leaves so deep,

Where the sunbeams randy creep,

Long before the winds are cold,

Long before the leaves are gold,

Bright-eyed stars will peep, and see

Baby robins, one, two, three;

That’s what Robin told me.

2. How Dare the Robins Sing

       by Emily Dickinson

How dare the robins sing,

When men and women hear

Who since they went to their account

Have settled with the year! —

Paid all that life had earned

In one consummate bill,

And now, what life or death can do

Is immaterial.

Insulting is the sun

To him whose mortal light,

Beguiled of immortality,

Bequeaths him to the night.

In deference to him

Extinct be every hum,

Whose garden wrestles with the dew,

At daybreak overcome!

3. Robin Redbreast

       by George Washington Doane

Sweet Robin, I have heard them say

That thou wert there upon the day

The Christ was crowned in cruel scorn

And bore away one bleeding thorn,—

That so the blush upon thy breast,

In shameful sorrow, was impressed;

And thence thy genial sympathy

With our redeemed humanity.

Sweet Robin, would that I might be

Bathed in my Saviour’s blood, like thee;

Bear in my breast, whate’er the loss,

The bleeding blazon of the cross;

Live ever, with thy loving mind,

In fellowship with human-kind;

And take my pattern still from thee,

In gentleness and constancy.

4. Robin’s Secret

       by Katharine Lee Bates

Tis the blithest, bonniest weather for a bird to flirt a feather,

For a bird to trill and warble, all his wee red breast a-swell

I’ve a secret. You may listen till your blue eyes dance and glisten,

Little maiden, but I’ll never, never, never, never, tell.

You’ll find no more wary piper, till the strawberries wax riper

In December than in June—aha! all up and down the dell,

Where my nest is set, for certain, with a pink and snowy curtain

East or west, but which I’ll never, never, never, never tell.

You may prick me with a thistle, if you ever hear me whistle

How my brooding mate, whose weariness my carols sweet dispel,

All between the clouds and clover, apple-blossoms drooping over,

Twitters low that I must never, never, never, never tell.

Oh, I swear no closer fellow stains his bill in cherries mellow.

Tra la la! and tirra lirra! I’m the jauntiest sentinel,

Perched beside my jewel-casket, where lie hidden don’t—you ask it,

For of those three eggs I’ll never, never, never, never tell.

Chirp! chirp! chirp! alack! for pity! Who hath marred my merry ditty?

Who hath stirred the scented petals, peeping in where robins

dwell? Oh, my mate! May Heaven defend her! Little maidens’ hearts are tender,

And I never, never, never, never, never, meant to tell.

5. The Redbreast Chasing A Butterfly

       by William Wordsworth

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,

The pious bird with the scarlet breast,

Our little English Robin;

The bird that comes about our doors

When Autumn-winds are sobbing?

Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?

Their Thomas in Finland,

And Russia far inland?

The bird, that by some name or other

All men who know thee call their brother,

The darling of children and men?

Could Father Adam open his eyes

And see this sight beneath the skies,

He’d wish to close them again.

—If the Butterfly knew but his friend,

Hither his flight he would bend;

And find his way to me,

Under the branches of the tree:

In and out, he darts about;

Can this be the bird, to man so good,

That, after their bewildering,

Covered with leaves the little children,

So painfully in the wood?

What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could’st pursue

A beautiful creature,

That is gentle by nature?

Beneath the summer sky

From flower to flower let him fly;

‘Tis all that he wishes to do.

The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness,

He is the friend of our summer gladness:

What hinders, then, that ye should be

Playmates in the sunny weather,

And fly about in the air together!

His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,

A crimson as bright as thine own:

Would’st thou be happy in thy nest,

O pious Bird! whom man loves best,

Love him, or leave him alone!

6. Robin’s Mate

       by Ella Gilbert Ives

Everybody praises Robin,

Singing early, singing late;

But who ever thinks of saying

A good word for Robin’s Mate?

Yet she’s everything to Robin,

Silent partner though she be;

Source and theme and inspiration

Of each madrigal and glee.

For as she with mute devotion

Shapes and curves the plastic nest,

Fashioning a tiny cradle,

With the pressure of her breast;

So the love in that soft bosom

Moulds his being as ’twere clay,

Prints upon his breast the music

Of his most impassioned lay.

And, when next you praise the Robin

Flinging wide the tuneful gate

To his eager brood of love-notes

Don’t forget the Robin’s Mate.

7. To A Robin

       by Hannah Flagg Gould

Robin, robin, sing to me,

And I’ll gladly suffer thee

Thus to breakfast in the tree,

On the ruddy cherry.

Soon as thou hast swallowed it,

How I love to see thee flit

To another twig, and sit

Singing there so merry!

It was kind in thee to fly

Near my window; and to try

There to raise thy notes so high,

As to break my slumbers.

Robin, half the cheering power

Of this bright and lovely hour,

While I pluck the dewy flower,

Comes from thy sweet numbers.

And thou wast an honest bird,

Thus to let thy voice be heard,

Asking in the plainest word

Thou could’st utter, whether

Those, who owned it, would allow

Thee to take upon the bough

Thy repast, and sit, as now,

Smoothing down thy feathers.

Who, that hears the mellow note

From my robin’s little throat

On the air of morning float,

Could desire to still her?

Who her beauty can behold,

And consent to have it told

That he had a heart so cold,

As to try to kill her?

8. Robin and Richard

        by Mother Goose

Robin and Richard were two pretty men,

They lay in bed till the clock struck ten;

Then up starts Robin and looks at the sky,

“Oh, brother Richard, the sun’s very high!

You go before, with the bottle and bag,

And I will come after on little Jack Nag.

9. The Robin is A Gabriel  

       by Emily Dickinson

The Robin is a Gabriel

In humble circumstances —

His Dress denotes him socially,

Of Transport’s Working Classes —

He has the punctuality

Of the New England Farmer —

The same oblique integrity,

A Vista vastly warmer —

A small but sturdy Residence

A self denying Household,

The Guests of Perspicacity

Are all that cross his Threshold —

As covert as a Fugitive,

Cajoling Consternation

By Ditties to the Enemy

And Sylvan Punctuation —

10. Winter

       by Walter De La Mare

Clouded with snow

The cold winds blow,

And shrill on leafless bough

The robin with its burning breast

Alone sings now.

The rayless sun,

Day’s journey done,

Sheds its last ebbing light

On fields in leagues of beauty spread

Unearthly white.

Thick draws the dark,

And spark by spark,

The frost-fires kindle, and soon

Over that sea of frozen foam

Floats the white moon.

11. Quite Empty Quite at Rest

       by Emily Dickinson

Quite empty, quite at rest,

The Robin locks her Nest, and tries her Wings.

She does not know a Route

But puts her Craft about

For rumored Springs —

She does not ask for Noon —

She does not ask for Boon,

Crumbless and homeless, of but one request —

The Birds she lost —

12. The Blossom  

       by William Blake

Merry, merry sparrow!

Under leaves so green

A happy blossom

Sees you, swift as arrow,

Seek your cradle narrow,

Near my bosom.

Pretty, pretty robin!

Under leaves so green

A happy blossom

Hears you sobbing, sobbing,

Pretty, pretty robin,

Near my bosom.

Robin Poems about Life

The robin is a representation of pleasure, love, and optimism. It also denotes fresh starts as springtime approaches. In short, it tells the tale of many significant phases of life. Here are some robin poems about life and its spirit.

1. Red Robin

       by Cona Adams 

With scarlet breasts

and charcoal backs

they came today

like jumping jacks

and brought our lawn alive.

They passed on by

the seed in place

plus water bath

to pace their chase

in groups of four or five.

I watch one hop

through still-green grass

ignoring me

on every pass

to bob head for his food.

That oil-well bob

to pull with beak

the hapless worm

into his cheek

is uncommonly rude.

2. Robin and His Friend Worm

       by Roger Horsch

There is a robin and a worm

Who became best of friends

They seem to have so much fun

And they hope it never ends

Robin always laughed at worm

Cause, he wiggles when they play

It’s almost as if my friend worm

Is trying to get away

Robin said, it’s starting to rain

And I don’t want you to drown

I promise I will keep you dry

By lifting you off the ground

Robin then picked up worm

And swallowed him that day

He ate three or four more worms

And then he flew away

There’s a moral to this story

That I bet you haven’t heard

It’s, if you are a worm

Never trust a bird

3. The Robin

       by Seren Roberts

He sits there tweeting merrily

Happy to be alive

Had ate all the seeds he needs

Probably too heavy to fly

So he sits, looking over the view

At what flowers are left to peruse

Cos jack frost has been about

And they have all got the wilting blues.

He fluffs out his chest

Cos someone points the lens

He wants to look his best

When they take a pic of him

He huffs and he puffs

So much so

He fell off his perch

Into the snow

A picture was taken

He wasn’t looking his best

Rather bedraggled  in a heap

With a flower across his chest

4. Little Robin Red Breast

       by Kevin Leake

Little robin red breast

Perched upon a branch

Saw a wiggly worm

Doing a belly dance

She chirped away, to warn her prey

And flew towards the ground

Instead of eating up her feast

She joined in with some sound

She chirped him happy Christmas

And kissed him with her beak

Then flew away, this snowy day

She sure is something sweet

5. Robin and Squirrel Frolic-

       by James Edward Lee Sr.

squirrel and robin

at bottom tree frolicking

the bird on the back

 of the squirrel like that

 on the squirrel’s back like a

man riding his horse.

 Imagine that now

such a site is that Robin

on a squirrel’s back

6. The Robins

       by Mother Goose

A robin and a robin’s son

Once went to town to buy a bun.

They couldn’t decide on plum or plain,

And so they went back home again.

Short Robin Poems

Like other birds, the robin welcomes warmth, joy, hope, and happiness. This bird has been the subject matter or an integral symbol in much short poetry about robins. Let’s read some!

1. Piping Robin

       by Annette Wynne

Piping Robin, piping so,

Tell the snow

It’s time to go;

Tell the rough winds not to blow

Any more through field and glen;

Call the bluebirds home again,

Tell the little flowers to grow,

Piping Robin, piping so!

2. If I Shouldn’t Be Alive

       by Emily Dickinson

If I shouldn’t be alive

When the robins come,

Give the one in red cravat

A memorial crumb.

If I couldn’t thank you,

Being just asleep,

You will know I’m trying

With my granite lip!

3. The Robin

       by Emily Dickinson

The robin is the one

That interrupts the morn

With hurried, few, express reports

When March is scarcely on.

The robin is the one

That overflows the noon

With her cherubic quantity,

An April but begun.

The robin is the one

That speechless from her nest

Submits that home and certainty

And sanctity are best.

4. An Epitaph on A Robin-Redbreast

       by Samuel Rogers

Tread lightly here, for here, ’tis said,

When piping winds are hush’d around,

A small note wakes from underground,

Where now his tiny bones are laid.

No more in lone and leafless groves,

With ruffled wing and faded breast,

His friendless, homeless spirit roves;

Gone to the world where birds are blest!

Where never cat glides o’er the green,

Or school-boy’s giant form is seen;

But Love, and Joy, and smiling Spring

Inspire their little souls to sing!

5. Home

       by Francis Ledwidge

A burst of sudden wings at dawn,

Faint voices in a dreamy noon,

Evenings of mist and murmurings,

And nights with rainbows of the moon.

And through these things a wood-way dim,

And waters dim, and slow sheep seen

On uphill paths that wind away

Through summer sounds and harvest green.

This is a song a robin sang

This morning on a broken tree,

It was about the little fields

That call across the world to me.

6. The North Wind Doth Blow

       by Anonymous

The north wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what will poor Robin do then,

Poor thing?

He’ll sit in a barn,

And to keep himself warm,

Will hide his head under his wing,

Poor thing!

7. The Secret

       by Anonymous

We have a secret, just we three,

The robin, and I, and the sweet cherry-tree;

The bird told the tree, and the tree told me,

And nobody knows it but just us three.

But of course the robin knows it best,

Because she built the—I shan’t tell the rest;

And laid the four little—something in it—

I’m afraid I shall tell it every minute.

But if the tree and the robin don’t peep,

I’ll try my best the secret to keep;

Though I know when the little birds fly about

Then the whole secret will be out.

8. Come Here, Little Robin

       by Anonymous

Come here, little Robin, and don’t be afraid,

I would not hurt even a feather;

Come here, little Robin, and pick up some bread,

To feed you this very cold weather.

I don’t mean to hurt you, you poor little thing;

And Pussy-cat is not behind me;

So hop about pretty, and put down your wing,

And pick up the crumbs, and don’t mind me:

Cold winter is come, but it will not last long,

And summer we soon shall be greeting;

Then remember, sweet Robin, to sing me a song

In return for the breakfast you’re eating.

9. The Pink Robin

        by Rachel Lawson

He is a sweet little robin,

he lives in forests,

he has a pink breast,

a pink lover’s dream,

a song bird supreme,

he is a vision of beauty.

10. Robin — the Bird of Winter

       by Jan

Robins can survive

on pure snow alone

if they want to stay…

11. Cold Robin

       by Unknown

cold robin

with puffed breasts

sits among the boughs

snow blankets earth

in crystal stars

12. Two Flying Robins

       by unknown

take off like jets

pointedly determined

two warm robins

without a sound

changing up the day

delighting sky

13. No Longer Cute (A Shadorma)

       by Jackie

robins sang

outside my windows

once, until

they were killed

or chased away by those ‘cute’

cannibal squirrels

Long Robin Poems

The English language fosters a wide range of robin poetry because of the importance this bird holds. These poems range from short to long, now that you have already checked out the short ones, head out toward the long poetry about robins.

1. Robin RedBreast

       by William Allingham

Good-by, good-by 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,

And scarlet brestknot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

Robin sings so 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 leathery pears and apples

Hang russet on the bough;

It’s autumn, autumn, autumn late,

‘T will soon be winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?

For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the cricket,

The wheat stack 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.

2. To A Robin

       by William Francis Barnard

Melodious bird upon the bough,

Tell me the secret of thy glee;

With tears at heart and clouded brow,

I linger, listening to thee.

I pause, bewildered at thy soul,

Which pours itself in strains so high

Upon this world of doom and dole;

Where sorrows live and raptures die.

Thy pleasures, too, are mixed with pain;

I have my griefs, and thou hast thine.

Thou sufferest from the wind and rain;

In famine thou full oft dost pine.

Thy nested young, perhaps, are dead,

Or thy blue eggs were stolen away;

But still thou liftest up thine head

To carol to each dawning day.

Hast thou a strength that I must miss:

Or inner light which knows no dark?

Dost thou command some purer bliss

Which naught adverse has might to mark,

That thou art aye, as now, serene

Despite whatever fates may fall?

Hast thou some good in all things seen,

And sweetly singest each and all?

Or art thou of the vagrant glad,

Who rarely feel the touch of fear;

Too blithe within to e’er be sad,

Or hold a vanished joy too dear?

Say, dost thou quick forget thy woe,

And lightly lilt o’er thought’s emprise?

Seems it true wisdom not to know,

And fatuous folly to be wise?

Thou answerest not, but still dost sing

As though thy heart would burst with joy.

Whate’er thou art, glad, winged thing,

Grief cannot hurt thee or destroy.

I harkening stand, and sobs repress,

Where hope is brief and life is long,

To wonder o’er thy lightsomeness

And envy thee that happier song!

3. The Robin

       by William Thompson Bacon

His is the sweetest note in all our woods.

The whistle of the meadow-lark is sweet,

The blackbird’s rapid chant fills all the vale,

And touchingly sweet the unincumbered song

That the thrush warbles in the green-wood shade;

Yet is the robin still our sweetest bird,

And beautiful as sweet. His ruddy breast

When poised on high, struck by the unrisen sun,

Glows from its altitude, and to the sight

Presents a burning vestiture of gold;

And his dark pinions, softly spread, improved

By contrast shame, the blackbird’s jetty plumes.

Less wild than others of the tuneful choir,

Oft on the tree that shades the farmer’s hut,

Close by his door, the little architect

Fixes his home,— though field-groves, and the woods,

Where the small streams murmur sweetly, loves he most.

Who seeks his nest may find it deftly hid

In fork of branching elm, or poplar shade;

And sometimes on the lawn; though rarely he,

The one that sings the sweetest, chooses thus

His habitation. Seek for it in deep

And tangled hollows, up some pretty brook,

That, prattling o’er the loose white pebbles, chides

The echoes with a soft monotony

Of softest music. There, upon the bough

That arches it, of fragrance-breathing birch,

Or kalmia branching in unnumbered forms,

He builds his moss-lined dwelling. First, he lays,

Transverse, dried bents picked from the forest walks;

Or in the glen, where downward with fell force

The mountain torrent rushes,—these all coated

With slime unsightly. Soon the builder shows

An instinct far surpassing human skill,

And lines it with a layer of soft wool,

Picked from the thorn where brushed the straggled flock;

Or with an intertexture of soft hairs,

Or moss, or feathers. Finally, complete, —

The usual list of eggs appear, — and lo!

Four in the whole, and softly tinged with blue.

And now the mother-bird the livelong day

Sits on her charge, nor leaves it for her mate,

Save just to dip her bill into the stream,

Or gather needful sustenance. Meanwhile,

The mate, assiduous, guards that mother-bird

Patient upon her nest; and, at her side,

Or overhead, or on the adverse bank,

Nestled, he all the tedious time beguiles,

Wakes his wild notes, and sings the hours away.

But soon again new duties wake the pair;

Their young appear. Love knocking at their hearts,

Alert they start, as by sure instinct led, —

That beautiful divinity in birds!

And now they hop along the forest edge,

Or dive into the ravines of the woods,

Or roam the fields, or skim the mossy bank

Shading some runnel with its antique forms,

Pecking for sustenance. Or now they mount

Into mid-air; or poise on half-shut wing,

Skimming for insects in the dewy beam,

Gayly disporting; or now, sweeping down

Where the wild brook flows on with ceaseless laughter,

Moisten their bills awhile, then soar away.

And so they weary out the needful hours,

Preaching, meanwhile, sound lesson unto man!

Till plump, and fledged, their little ones essay

Their native element. At first they fail:

Flutter awhile; then, screaming, sink plump down,

Prizes for school-boys. Yet the more escape;

And, wiser grown and stronger, soon their wings

Obedient send they forth; when, confident,

They try the forest tops, or skim the flood,

Or fly up in the skirts of the white clouds, —

Till, all at once, they start, a mirthful throng,

Burst into voice, and the wide forest rings!

4. Robin’s Come

       by William Warner Caldwell

From the elm-tree’s topmost bough,

Hark! the Robin’s early song!

Telling one and all that now

Merry spring-time hastes along;

Welcome tidings dost thou bring,

Little harbinger of spring:

Robin’s come!

Of the winter we are weary,

Weary of the frost and snow;

Longing for the sunshine cheery,

And the brooklet’s gurgling flow;

Gladly then we hear thee sing

The reveille of spring:

Robin’s come!

Ring it out o er hill and plain,

Through the garden’s lonely bowers,

Till the green leaves dance again,

Till the air is sweet with flowers!

Wake the cowslips by the rill,

Wake the yellow daffodil;

Robin’s come!

Then, as thou wert wont of yore,

Build thy nest and rear thy young,

Close beside our cottage door,

In the woodbine leaves among;

Hurt or harm thou need’st not fear,

Nothing rude shall venture near:

Robin’s come!

Swinging still o’er yonder lane

Robin answers merrily;

Ravished by the sweet refrain,

Alice claps her hands in glee,

Calling from the open door,

With her soft voice, o’er and o’er,

Robin’s come!

5. To the Oregon Robin

       by John Burroughs

O varied thrush! O robin strange!

Behold my mute surprise.

Thy form and flight I long have known,

But not this new disguise.

I do not know thy slaty coat,

Thy vest with darker zone;

I’m puzzled by thy recluse ways

And song in monotone.

I left thee ‘mid my orchard’s bloom,

When May had crowned the year;

Thy nest was on the apple-bough,

Where rose thy carol clear.

Thou lurest now through fragrant shades,

Where hoary spruces grow;

Where floor of moss infolds the foot,

Like depths of fallen snow.

I follow fast or pause alert,

To spy out thy retreat;

Or see thee perched on tree or shrub,

Where field and forest meet.

Thy voice is like a hermit’s reed

That solitude beguiles;

Again ‘t is like a silver bell

Atune in forest aisles.

Throw off, throw off this masquerade

And don thy ruddy vest,

And let me find thee, as of old,

Beside thy orchard nest.

6. How the Robin Came

       by John G. Whittier

Happy young friends, sit by me,

Under May’s blown apple-tree,

While these home-birds in and out

Through the blossoms flit about.

Hear a story, strange and old,

By the wild red Indians told,

How the robin came to be:

Once a great chief left his son,—

Well-beloved, his only one,—

When the boy was well-nigh grown,

In the trial-lodge alone.

Left for tortures long and slow

Youths like him must undergo,

Who their pride of manhood test,

Lacking water, food, and rest.

Seven days the fast he kept,

Seven nights he never slept.

Then the young boy, wrung with pain,

Weak from nature’s overstrain,

Faltering, moaned a low complaint

“Spare me, father, for I faint!”

But the chieftain, haughty-eyed,

Hid his pity in his pride.

“You shall be a hunter good,

Knowing never lack of food;

You shall be a warrior great,

Wise as fox and strong as bear;

Many scalps your belt shall wear,

If with patient heart you wait

Bravely till your task is done.

Better you should starving die

Than that boy and squaw should cry

Shame upon your father’s son!”

When next morn the sun’s first rays

Glistened on the hemlock sprays,

Straight that lodge the old chief sought,

And boiled sainp and moose meat brought.

“Rise and eat, my son!” he said.

Lo, he found the poor boy dead!

As with grief his grave they made,

And his bow beside him laid,

Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid,

On the lodge-top overhead,

Preening smooth its breast of red

And the brown coat that it wore,

Sat a bird, unknown before.

And as if with human tongue,

“Mourn me not,” it said, or sung;

“I, a bird, am still your son,

Happier than if hunter fleet,

Or a brave, before your feet

Laying scalps in battle won.

Friend of man, my song shall cheer

Lodge and corn-land; hovering near,

To each wigwam I shall bring

Tidings of the corning spring;

Every child my voice shall know

In the moon of melting snow,

When the maple’s red bud swells,

And the wind-flower lifts its bells.

As their fond companion

Men shall henceforth own your son,

And my song shall testify

That of human kin am I.”

Thus the Indian legend saith

How, at first, the robin came

With a sweeter life from death,

Bird for boy, and still the same.

If my young friends doubt that this

Is the robin’s genesis,

Not in vain is still the myth

If a truth be found therewith

Unto gentleness belong

Gifts unknown to pride and wrong;

Happier far than hate is praise,—

He who sings than he who slays.

7. The Robin’s Hymn

       by Hannah Flagg Gould

My maker, I know not the place of thy home;

If ‘t is earth or the sky, or the sea.

I only can tell, that wherever I roam

I’ve still a kind father in thee.

I feel that, at night, when I go to my rest,

Thy wings all around me are flung.

And peaceful I sleep while the down of thy breast

Is o’er me, as mine, o’er my young.

And when in the morning I open my eye,

I find thou hast long been awake.

Thy beautiful plumage seems spread o’er the sky,

And painted again on the lake.

Thy breath has gone into the buds; and the flowers

Have opened to thee on their stems.

And thou the bright dew-drops hast sent down in showers

To glitter like thousands of gems.

Thy voice with the notes that can only be thine —

A music ‘t is gladness to hear,

Comes through the green boughs of the oak and the pine,

And falls sweet and soft on my ear.

And many a time hast thou stood between me

And the arrow, that aimed at my heart.

For, though in a form that my eye could not see,

I know thou hast parried the dart.

I drink from the drops on the grass and the vine,

And gratefully gather my food.

I feel thou hast plenty for me and for mine;—

That all things declare thou art good.

My Father, thy pinions are ever unfurled,

With brightness no changes can dim!

My Maker, thy home is all over the world.

Thou’lt hear then, thy Robin’s low hymn!

Robin Poems That Rhyme

Poetry can be written in free verse but it is undeniably a lot more appealing when a rhyme scheme is involved. Isn’t that so? Well, see for yourself how beautiful these rhyming poems about robins are.

1. O A Robin

       by Hilda Conkling

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,

Don’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!”

2. Robins Return

       by Carl Wayne Jent

Love the weather, springtime is near

flew in from the south to make it here

spend our summers, the climate is good

enjoy the pleasures of the neighborhood

have to get busy if we are to survive

need good shelter to stay alive

look for a place to build our nest

lots of work with very little rest

found a place in a covey of trees

be able to stay dry and feel the breeze

family been coming here for over ten years

lots of good food and not many fears

folks down below seem to think we’re great

nice place to settle in and begin to mate

nest is strong, we did a good job

very secure, can’t find our eggs to rob

in tree next door, our neighbors are back

they have to get busy, a little off track

soon will have a few eggs, have to tend

we’ll live and love playing in the wind

3. Proud Parent Birds

       by Mark Van Loan

from the red maple a small robin fell

curled up in a young feather shell,

little bird lungs heaving and stressed

shivering and trembling in summer shade,

frail sweet creature with wings so frayed,

relatives screeching and beating their chests

the proud parent birds panic and shriek,

diving down in bold piercing streaks,

beak bombing the awkward human guest

devotion appears in various forms

like rounds of robins who gather and swarm

to carry their offspring back to the nest

4. Daffodils

       By Anissa Nedzel Gage

The early ones, like fairy flowers, spring

In daintiness, much tinier than the tall:

Those glowing golden trumpets that all call,

In ruffled silence, robins on the wing

To serenade them. Thrushes also sing,

And chickadees then dee dee dee them all:

Those fluttering fields against the garden wall

That so much happiness to April bring!

When we lived in the fairy castle, I

Once planted thousands of them! Every year

Well, flocks of folks both strolled and even rode

To view them bloom: enchanting every eye,

And even more when springtime’s dreamy deer 

All wandered through our glorious motherlode!

5. Robin on the Lawn

       By Lucie Gray

I saw a robin on the lawn,

when I got up one spring time dawn.

She pulled a worm then flew away.

It really, really made my day.

6. The Blue Robin’s Bill

       by Bethany

The blue robin’s bill

burns bright orange still

Wings are fragrant in flight

The birds are lovers

and their hearts run free

Even when they are bound

to be grounded

They see forever through their wings

They soar



The earth’s delights

Feathers flutter for sky heights

Emperors of hills

7. A Poem as Lovely as a Tree

       by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see

A poem as lovely as a tree;

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth’s sweet, flowering breast.

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may, in Summer, wear

A nest of robins in her hair.

Upon whose bosom snow has lain,

Who intimately lives with rain;

Oh, poems are made by fools (like me!),

But only God can make a tree.

8. Three Things to Remember  

       by William Blake

A Robin Redbreast in a cage,

Puts all Heaven in a rage.

A skylark wounded on the wing

Doth make a cherub cease to sing.

He who shall hurt the little wren

Shall never be beloved by men.

9. Robin Hood and Little John

       by Mother Goose

Robin Hood, Robin Hood,

Is in the mickle wood!

Little John, Little John,

He to the town is gone.

Telling his beads,

All in the greenwood

Among the green weeds.

Little John, Little John,

If he comes no more,

Robin Hood, Robin Hood,

We shall fret full sore!

10. She Could Not Live Upon the Past  

       by Emily Dickinson

She could not live upon the Past

The Present did not know her

And so she sought this sweet at last

And nature gently owned her

The mother that has not a knell

for either Duke or Robin

Robin Poems for Kids

For kids, the charm of a beautiful poem can help make reading a reality. Children are often fascinated by birds and the tiny cute robin redbreast surely catches their attention. This easy robin poetry for children is an all-time favorite.

1. March Winds Gusting

       by M.L. Kiser

March winds gusting by have transplanted a robin’s nest

onto the porch; right-side up and containing

three blue unhatched and unbroken eggs.


cradling precious ovum

alarmed mama

2. Ten Red Robins

       By Unknown

ten red robins

bobbing in the head

ten read robins

bobbing in the head

& if ten red robins

should bugger off & go

there’ll be no red robins

& just the crows, instead

3. Hoppity

       by Alan Alexander (A A) Milne

Christopher Robin goes

Hoppity, hoppity,

Hoppity, hoppity, hop.

Whenever I tell him

Politely to stop it, he

Says he can’t possibly stop.

If he stopped hopping,

He couldn’t go anywhere,

Poor little Christopher

Couldn’t go anywhere…

That’s why he always goes

Hoppity, hoppity,




4. If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking

       by Emily Dickinson

If I can stop one Heart from breaking

I shall not live in vain

If I can ease one Life the Aching

Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin

Unto his Nest again

I shall not live in Vain.

5. Dust is the Only Secret

       by Emily Dickinson

Dust is the only Secret —

Death, the only One

You cannot find out all about

In his “native town.

Nobody know “his Father” —

Never was a Boy —

Hadn’t any playmates,

Or “Early history” —

Industrious! Laconic!

Punctual! Sedate!

Bold as a Brigand!

Stiller than a Fleet!

Builds, like a Bird, too!

Christ robs the Nest —

Robin after Robin

Smuggled to Rest!

6. The Robin is the One

       by Emily Dickinson

The Robin is the One

That interrupt the Morn

With hurried — few — express Reports

When March is scarcely on —

The Robin is the One

That overflow the Noon

With her cherubic quantity —

An April but begun —

The Robin is the One

That speechless from her Nest

Submit that Home — and Certainty

And Sanctity, are best

7. Snow

       by John Davidson

No breath of wind,

No gleam of sun –

Still the white snow

Whirls softly down

Twig and bough

And blade and thorn

All in an icy

Quiet, forlorn.

Whispering, rustling,

Through the air

On still and stone,

Roof, – everywhere,

It heaps its powdery

Crystal flakes,

Of every tree

A mountain makes;

‘Til pale and faint

At shut of day

Stoops from the West

One wint’ry ray,

And, feathered in fire

Where ghosts the moon,

A robin shrills

His lonely tune.

8. The Henpecked Husband

       by Robert Burns


Robin shure in hairst,

I shure wi’ him.

Fient a heuk had I,

Yet I stack by him.

I GAED up to Dunse,

to warp a wab o’ plaiden,

At his daddie’s yett,

Wha met me but Robin:

Robin shure, &c.

Was na Robin bauld,

Tho’ I was a cotter,

Play’d me sic a trick,

An’ me the El’er’s dochter!

Robin shure, &c.

Robin promis’d me

A’ my winter vittle;

Fient haet he had but three

Guse-feathers and a whittle!

9. She Sights A Bird — She Chuckles

       by Emily Dickinson

She sights a Bird — she chuckles —

She flattens — then she crawls —

She runs without the look of feet —

Her eyes increase to Balls —

Her Jaws stir — twitching — hungry —

Her Teeth can hardly stand —

She leaps, but Robin leaped the first —

Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,

The Hopes so juicy ripening —

You almost bathed your Tongue —

When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes —

And fled with every one —

10. Comparison

       by Paul Laurence Dunbar

The sky of brightest gray seems dark

To one whose sky was ever white.

To one who never knew a spark,

Thro’ all his life, of love or light,

The grayest cloud seems over-bright.

The robin sounds a beggar’s note

Where one the nightingale has heard,

But he for whom no silver throat

Its liquid music ever stirred,

Deems robin still the sweetest bird.

Final Thoughts

Some people find solace in the fact that their nearest and dearest are at rest when they see robins.

And many people think that their deceased loved ones are approaching them.

It also serves as a reminder that the sun will eventually come out again, even after the harshest and coldest winter.

There are countless robin poems, yet they frequently have recurring themes.

They talk about Robin’s cheerful demeanor, lovely voice, and family-focused, selfless character.

These are the ideas that robins have been linked to throughout time.

So which one of these poems for robins did you find the best? Let us know!

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