What is another word for robin?

Pronunciation: [ɹˈɒbɪn] (IPA)

The word "robin" is commonly used to refer to a small bird with a distinctive red breast. However, there are several synonyms for this word that can be used interchangeably. Some of the most common synonyms for "robin" include "robin redbreast," "redbreast," "redbreasted robin," "European robin," and "American robin." While these terms may have slight variations in meaning or refer to specific species of robin, they all describe a small bird with a red or reddish-orange breast and a brown or gray body. Whether you are a bird enthusiast or simply looking for alternative ways to describe this iconic bird, these synonyms provide plenty of options.

Synonyms for Robin:

What are the paraphrases for Robin?

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  • Independent

    • Proper noun, singular
      Rubin, Robyn.
    • Verb, past participle
      known.
  • Other Related

    • Proper noun, singular
      Ruben, Robina.

What are the hypernyms for Robin?

A hypernym is a word with a broad meaning that encompasses more specific words called hyponyms.

What are the hyponyms for Robin?

Hyponyms are more specific words categorized under a broader term, known as a hypernym.
  • hyponyms for robin (as nouns)

What are the holonyms for Robin?

Holonyms are words that denote a whole whose part is denoted by another word.

Usage examples for Robin

Touched with a vague unrest, And if tired of loving too much More troubled at heart to find That the flame of love could wither And the wonder of love could pass, You kneeled at the window-ledge And stared through the black-topped maples Where an April robin fluted,- Stared idly out At the flood-time sweep of the river, Silver and paling gold In the ghostly April twilight.
"Open Water"
Arthur Stringer
Urging robin not to move he knocked at Miss Monogue's door.
"Fortitude"
Hugh Walpole
"Then I won't," said robin.
"Fortitude"
Hugh Walpole

Famous quotes with Robin

  • Listen, can you hear it Spring's sweet cantata. The strains of grass pushing through the snow. The song of buds swelling on the vine. The tender timpani of a baby robin's heart. Spring.
    Andrew Schneider
  • Weird, isn't it Somehow in the dead of winter when its 40 below, so cold your words just freeze in the air, you think you'll never hear a robin's song again or see a blossom on a cherry tree, when one day you wake up and bingo, light coming through the mini blinds is softened with a tick of rose and the cold morning air has lost its bite. It's spring once again, the streets are paved with mud and the hills are alive with the sound of mosquitos.
    Andrew Schneider
  • Orgoch gave a most ungentle snort. Orddu, meanwhile, had unfolded a length of brightly woven tapestry and held it out to Taran. “We came to bring you this, my duckling,” she said. “Take it and pay no heed to Orgoch’s grumbling. She’ll have to swallow her disappointment—for lack of anything better.” “I have seen this on your loom,” Taran said, more than a little distrustful. “Why do you offer it to me? I do not ask for it, nor can I pay for it.” “It is yours by right, my robin,” answered Orddu. “It does come from our loom, if you insist on strictest detail, but it was really you who wove it.” Puzzled, Taran looked more closely at the fabric and saw it crowded with images of men and women, of warriors and battles, of birds and animals. “These,” he murmured in wonder, “these are of my own life.” “Of course,” Orddu replied. “The pattern is of your choosing and always was.” “My choosing?” Taran questioned. “Not yours? Yet I believed...” He stopped and raised his eyes to Orddu. “Yes,” he said slowly, “once I did believe the world went at your bidding. I see now it is not so. The strands of life are not woven by three hags or even by three beautiful damsels. The pattern indeed was mine. But here,” he added, frowning as he scanned the final portion of the fabric where the weaving broke off and the threads fell unraveled, “here it is unfinished.” “Naturally,” said Orddu. “You must still choose the pattern, and so must each of you poor, perplexed fledglings, as long as thread remains to be woven.”
    Lloyd Alexander
  • If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.
    Emily Dickinson
  • a robin said to an angleworm as he ate him i am sorry but a bird has to live somehow the worm being slow witted could not gather his dissent into a wise crack and retort he was effectually swallowed before he could turn a phrase
    Don Marquis

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