When crisp snaps frost at fall of winter night,
The trees fill with the sound of restless birds
That cannot put into our human words
Their anguish at the fading of the light.
For winter creeps the dark boughs and the fields
With slender fingers, knife-sharp, cold as steel,
And snaps the thread of life, winds up the reel,
While some small, tender-beating bird heart yields.
I heard you, robin sing, my heart was drawn
To the sweet liquid stream of crystal notes,
As delicate as feather down that floats
on sea-wind—robin, will you see the dawn?