The One Singer

Dead leaves from off the tree

Make whirlpools on the ground;

Like dogs that chase their tails,

Those leaves go round and round;

Like birds unfledged and young,

The old bare branches cry;

Branches that shake and bend

To feel the wind go by.

No other sound is heard,

Save from boughs so bare-

Hark! Who sings that one song?

‘Tis Robin sings so rare.

How sweet! Like those sad tunes

In homes where grief’s not known;

Or that a blind girl sings

When she is left alone.