These are not dew-drops, these are tears, br And tears by Sally shed br For absent Robin, who she fears br With too much cause, is dead. br br One morn he came not to her hand br As he was wont to come, br And, on her finger perched, to stand br Picking his breakfast-crumb. br br Alarmed she called him, and perplext br She sought him, but in vain; br That day he came not, nor the next, br Nor ever came again. br br She therefore raised him here a tomb, br Though where he fell, or how, br None knows, so secret was his doom, br Nor where he moulders now. br br Had half a score of coxcombs died br In social Robin's stead, br Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried, br Or haply never shed. br br But Bob was neither rudely bold br Nor spiritlessly tame, br Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, br But always in a flame.