Good-bye, good-bye 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,
    With ruddy breast-knot gay. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
    O Robin dear! 
Robin singing 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 scanty pears and apples
    Hang russet on the bough, 
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
    'Twill soon be Winter now. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
    O Robin dear! 
And welaway! my Robin,
    For pinching times are near.

The fireside for the Cricket,
    The wheatstack 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.