Sonnet

Spare, ruthless fowler, spare
That harmless robin's breast!
Its downy vesture do not tear;
But leave the life-blood circling there,
Again to warm her nest;
For she is hastening home with food
Provided for her callow brood.

Her tender offspring see,
Were now thy shot to fly,
Left, as thy helpless babes would be,
'Reft of their mother and of thee,
To moan, and pine, and die.
Then let her pass unhurt along;
And she will thank thee with a song.