’T IS the blithest, bonniest weather for a bird to flirt a feather, <br />For a bird to trill and warble, all his wee red breast a-swell. <br />I ’ve a secret. You may listen till your blue eyes dance and glisten, <br />Little maiden, but I ’ll never, never, never, never tell. <br /> <br />You ’ll find no more wary piper, till the strawberries wax riper <br />In December than in June—aha! all up and down the dell, <br />Where my nest is set, for certain, with a pink and snowy curtain, <br />East or west, but which I ’ll never, never, never, never tell. <br /> <br />You may prick me with a thistle, if you ever hear me whistle <br />How my brooding mate, whose weariness my carols sweet dispel, <br />All between the clouds and clover, apple-blossoms drooping over, <br />Twitters low that I must never, never, never, never tell. <br /> <br />Oh, I swear no closer fellow stains his bill in cherries mellow. <br />Tra la la! and tirra lirra! I ’m the jauntiest sentinel, <br />Perched beside my jewel-casket, where lie hidden—don’t you ask it, <br />For of those three eggs I ’ll never, never, never, never tell. <br /> <br />Chirp! chirp! chirp! alack! for pity! Who hath marred my merry ditty? <br />Who hath stirred the scented petals, peeping in where robins dwell? <br />Oh, my mate! May Heaven defend her! Little maidens’ hearts are tender, <br />And I never, never, never, never, never meant to tell.<br /><br />Katharine Lee Bates<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/robin-s-secret/
