TO A BIRD.

TO A BIRD.

The little bird upon the treeHas nothing now to say to me;He does not meet me with a song,But, silent as I pass along,He turns his head, as he would say,“It is too cold to sing to-day.”And I would say, but have no wordsTo talk with little bits of birds—“If you’ll come round to-morrow morn,When I give my young chicks their corn,I’ll put some seeds and crumbs of breadFor you upon the chickens’ shed.“And perhaps you will. I’ll look to seeIf you are sitting in the tree;And if you are, I will not stay,But leave the crumbs and go away;You’d think, if I stayed by the rail,I’d salt to put upon your tail.“And if you saw the cage I’ve made,I think you would not be afraid;But I’ve a bigger bird, you see,That whistles tunes all day for me.So if you think you’d like the bread,I’ll leave it for you on the shed.”

The little bird upon the treeHas nothing now to say to me;He does not meet me with a song,But, silent as I pass along,He turns his head, as he would say,“It is too cold to sing to-day.”And I would say, but have no wordsTo talk with little bits of birds—“If you’ll come round to-morrow morn,When I give my young chicks their corn,I’ll put some seeds and crumbs of breadFor you upon the chickens’ shed.“And perhaps you will. I’ll look to seeIf you are sitting in the tree;And if you are, I will not stay,But leave the crumbs and go away;You’d think, if I stayed by the rail,I’d salt to put upon your tail.“And if you saw the cage I’ve made,I think you would not be afraid;But I’ve a bigger bird, you see,That whistles tunes all day for me.So if you think you’d like the bread,I’ll leave it for you on the shed.”

The little bird upon the treeHas nothing now to say to me;He does not meet me with a song,But, silent as I pass along,He turns his head, as he would say,“It is too cold to sing to-day.”

The little bird upon the tree

Has nothing now to say to me;

He does not meet me with a song,

But, silent as I pass along,

He turns his head, as he would say,

“It is too cold to sing to-day.”

And I would say, but have no wordsTo talk with little bits of birds—“If you’ll come round to-morrow morn,When I give my young chicks their corn,I’ll put some seeds and crumbs of breadFor you upon the chickens’ shed.

And I would say, but have no words

To talk with little bits of birds—

“If you’ll come round to-morrow morn,

When I give my young chicks their corn,

I’ll put some seeds and crumbs of bread

For you upon the chickens’ shed.

“And perhaps you will. I’ll look to seeIf you are sitting in the tree;And if you are, I will not stay,But leave the crumbs and go away;You’d think, if I stayed by the rail,I’d salt to put upon your tail.

“And perhaps you will. I’ll look to see

If you are sitting in the tree;

And if you are, I will not stay,

But leave the crumbs and go away;

You’d think, if I stayed by the rail,

I’d salt to put upon your tail.

“And if you saw the cage I’ve made,I think you would not be afraid;But I’ve a bigger bird, you see,That whistles tunes all day for me.So if you think you’d like the bread,I’ll leave it for you on the shed.”

“And if you saw the cage I’ve made,

I think you would not be afraid;

But I’ve a bigger bird, you see,

That whistles tunes all day for me.

So if you think you’d like the bread,

I’ll leave it for you on the shed.”

WHISTLING A TUNE.

WHISTLING A TUNE.

WHISTLING A TUNE.

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