Books: My Robin
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Frances Hodgson Burnett >> My Robin
Then I knew he was a little Soul and not only a bird and the real
parting which must come in a few weeks' time loomed up before me a
strange tragic thing.
* * *
I do not often allow myself to think of it. It was too final. And there
was nothing to be done. I was going thousands of miles across the sea. A
little warm thing of scarlet and brown feathers and pulsating trilling
throat lives such a brief life. The little soul in its black dew-drop
eye--one knows nothing about it. For myself I sometimes believe strange
things. We two were something weirdly near to each other.
At the end I went down to the bare world of roses one soft damp day and
stood under the tree and called him for the last time. He did not keep
me waiting and he flew to a twig very near my face. I could not write
all I said to him. I tried with all my heart to explain and he answered
me--between his listenings--with the "far away" love note. I talked to
him as if he knew all I knew. He put his head on one side and listened
so intently that I felt that he understood. I told him that I must go
away and that we should not see each other again and I told him why.
"But you must not think when I do not come back it is because I have
forgotten you," I said. "Never since I was born have I loved anything as
I have loved you--except my two babies. Never shall I love anything so
much again so long as I am in the world. You are a little Soul and I am a
little Soul and we shall love each other forever and ever. We won't say
Good-bye. We have been too near to each other--nearer than human
beings are. I love you and love you and love you--little Soul."
Then I went out of the rose-garden. I shall never go into it again.