John Burroughs Poems : To the Oregon Robin

I do not know thy slaty coat,
Thy vest with darker zone;
I'm puzzled by thy recluse ways
And song in monotone.

I left thee 'mid my orchard's bloom,
When May had crowned the year;
Thy nest was on the apple-bough,
Where rose thy carol clear.

Thou lurest now through fragrant shades,
Where hoary spruces grow;
Where floor of moss infolds the foot,
Like depths of fallen snow.

Thy voice is like a hermit's reed
That solitude beguiles;
Again 't is like a silver bell
Atune in forest aisles.

Throw off, throw off this masquerade
And don thy ruddy vest,
And let me find thee, as of old,
Beside thy orchard nest.