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.