The North Wind & The Robin

The north wind doth blow
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor Robin do then--poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn
To keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing--poor thing!

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

Natural History

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Fox & The Mosquitoes

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Ding Dong Bell

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Fox & The Grapes

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Nursery Rhyme. CXLIX. Songs.

        The north wind doth blow,
        And we shall have snow,
    And what will poor Robin do then?
                                            Poor thing!

        He'll sit in a barn,
        And to keep himself warm,
    Will hide his head under his wing.
                                            Poor thing!

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DXVIII. Natural History.

    When the snow is on the ground,
        Little Robin Red-breast grieves;
    For no berries can be found,
        And on the trees there are no leaves.

    The air is cold, the worms are hid,
        For this poor bird what can be done?
    We'll strew him here some crumbs of bread,
        And then he'll live till the snow is gone.

Unknown

The Robin Redbreast. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

Poor Robin sits and sings alone
When showers of driving sleet,
By the cold winds of winter blown,
The cottage casement beat.

Come, let him share our chimney nook,
And dry his dripping wing;
See, little Mary shuts her book,
And cries, "Poor Robin, sing!"

Methinks I hear his faint reply:
When cowslips deck the plain,
The lark shall carol in the sky,
And I shall sing again.

But in the cold and wintry day,
To you I owe a debt,
That in the sunshine of the May
I never can forget!

William Lisle Bowles

The Redbreast - Suggested In A Westmoreland Cottage

Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air
From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,
Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home:
Not like a beggar is he come,
But enters as a looked-for guest,
Confiding in his ruddy breast,
As if it were a natural shield
Charged with a blazon on the field,
Due to that good and pious deed
Of which we in the Ballad read.
But pensive fancies putting by,
And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
He plays the expert ventriloquist;
And, caught by glimpses now, now missed,
Puzzles the listener with a doubt
If the soft voice he throws about
Comes from within doors or without!
Was ever such a sweet confusion,
Sustained by delicate illusion?
He's at your elbow, to your feeling
The notes are from the floor or ceiling;
And there's a rid...

William Wordsworth

Cock Robin And Jenny Wren

1.
'Twas on a merry time,
When Jenny Wren was young,
So neatly as she danced,
And so sweetly as she sung,
Robin Redbreast lost his heart,
He was a gallant bird,
He doffed his cap to Jenny Wren,
Requesting to be heard.

2.
"My dearest Jenny Wren,
If you will but be mine,
You shall dine on cherry pie,
And drink nice currant wine;
I'll dress you like a gold-finch,
Or like a peacock gay,
So if you'll have me, Jenny, dear,
Let us appoint the day."

3.
Jenny blushed behind her fan
And thus declared her mind--
"So let it be to-morrow, Rob,
I'll take your offer kind;
Cherry pie is very good,
And so is currant wine,
But I will wear my plain brown gown,
And never dress too fine."

4.
Robin Redbre...

Walter Crane

Robin Redbreast

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,
Wh...

William Allingham