No More Learning

William wrote the poem on the Robin and the Butterfly. . . . W. met me at
Rydal with the conclusion of the poem to the Robin. I read it to him
in bed. We left out some lines. "

Ed.




Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird [B] with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When Autumn-winds are sobbing? 5
Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,
And Russia far inland?
The bird, that [1] by some name or other
All men who know thee call their brother, 10
The darling of children and men?
Could Father Adam [C] open his eyes
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.
--If the Butterfly knew but his friend, 15
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, 20
That, after their bewildering, [2]
Covered [3] with leaves the little children,
So painfully in the wood?
What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue
A beautiful creature, 25
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, 30
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, 35
A crimson as bright as thine own: [4]
Would'st thou be [5] happy in thy nest,
O pious Bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!


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VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1849.

. . . whom . . . 1807.

. . .