Little children never give
Pain to things that feel and live:
Let the gentle Robin come
For crumbs you save at home, -
As his meat you throw along
He’ll repay you with a song;
Never hurt the timid hare
Peeping from her green grass lair,
Let her come and sport and play
On the lawn at close of day;
The little lark goes soaring high
To the bright windows of the sky,
Singing as if ‘twere always spring,
And fluttering on an untired wing, -
Oh! Let him sing his happy song,
Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.
1 comment:
35 years ago, I had a small book as a child of poetry, that poem was in it! I have been searching for it for a long time!
I remember other lines from the same book!
The man in the moon is a fiend of mine, he comes when the stars begin to shine!
I fancy he lights them one by one
and never rests til his work is done!
Oh how I wish I could find that book :)
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