AH ME! 



I killed a Robin — the little thing, 

 With scarlet breast on a glossy wing, 

 That comes in the apple tree to sing. 



I flung a stone as he twittered there, 

 I only meant to give him a scare, 

 But off it went — and hit him square. 



A little flutter — a little cry — 

 Then on the ground I saw him lie. 

 I didn't think he was going to die. 



But as I watched him I soon could see 

 He never would sing for you or me 

 Any more in the apple tree. 



Never more in the morning light, 

 Never more in the sunshine bright, 

 Trilling his song in gay delight. 



And I'm thinking, every summer day. 

 How never, never, I can repay 

 The little life that I took away. 



— Sydney Dayre, in The Youth's Companion, 



113 



