by John Banister Tabb
Come to me, Robin! The daylight is dying!
Come to me now!
Come, ere the cypress-tree over me sighing,
Dank with the shadow-tide, circle my brow;
Come, ere oblivion speed to me, flying
Swifter than thou!
Come to me, Robin! The far echoes waken
Cold to my cry!
Oh! with the swallow-wing, love overtaken,
Hence to the Echo-land, homeward, to fly!
Thou art my life, Robin. Oh! love-forsaken,
How can I die?
John Lane, LondonCopeland and Day, Boston