Robin’s Mate
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 with tuneful gate
To his eager brood of love-notes,
Don’t forget the Robin’s mate.
—Eliza Gilbert Ives.
Notes
4 See Climatic Variations in Colour and Size of Song Sparrow, F. M. Chapman.