I wus a settin' by my winder
Lookin' out the other day,
On the Airth all white with snowdrifts -
Look you ever which-a-way;
An' while it all wus cleanly
Like a soul that's washed from sin,
I could not help a longin'
Fur the robins an' the green.
I am tired of all this sollum white,
Bare boughs an' tongueless brook;
The Airth is like a shrouded corpse
No matter whur I look.
O, I want to see the robins
An' hear the bluebirds sing,
An' in the pon' below the barn
The bullfrog swear its Spring!
I want to see white turn to brown,
An' then the brown turn green,
The hillsides put their mournin' off
As fifty times I've seen.
O, I want to hear that tongue-tied brook
Go singin' on its way,
Ashoutin' as it runs along:
'The robins 've come to stay!'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem