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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Tampa Robins
By Sidney Lanier (1842–1881)
 
THE ROBIN laughed in the orange-tree:—
“Ho, windy North, a fig for thee;
While breasts are red and wings are bold
And green trees wave us globes of gold,
  Time’s scythe shall reap but bliss for me,—        5
  Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree.
 
  “Burn, golden globes in leafy sky,
  My orange-planets: crimson I
  Will shine and shoot among the spheres
  (Blithe meteor that no mortal fears),        10
    And thrid the heavenly orange-tree
    With orbits bright of minstrelsy.
 
  “If that I hate wild winter’s spite,—
  The gibbet trees, the world in white,
  The sky but gray wind over a grave,—        15
  Why should I ache, the season’s slave?
    I’ll sing from the top of the orange-tree,
    Gramercy, winter’s tyranny.
 
“I’ll south with the sun, and keep my clime;
My wing is king of the summer-time;        20
My breast to the sun his torch shall hold;
And I’ll call down through the green and gold,
  Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me;
  Bestir thee under the orange-tree.”
 
 
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