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1840–1928

THE ROBIN

Thomas Hardy

When up aloft I fly and fly, I see in pools The shining sky,

And a happy bird Am I, am I! When I descend Towards their brink

I stand, and look, And stoop, and drink, And bathe my wings, And chink and prink.

When winter frost Makes earth as steel I search and search But find no meal,

And most unhappy Then I feel. But when it lasts, And snows still fall,

I get to feel No grief at all, For I turn to a cold stiff Feathery ball!

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THE ROBIN · Thomas Hardy · Poetry Cove