Bird Song

I'm a merry vagabond, I'm a reckless rover!Give me but a hedge row, give me but a tree,Mine is the shy grass, mine the lissome clover,Mine;he blue, untravelled far, the hilltop dim and free.

Everyone his song has, mine is but of gladness;Little wit or wisdom, mayhap, when all is told,But if thine is weary, if it smack of sadness,Take a note of mine along, 'twere worth its weight in gold.

All the world is orchestra to this reckless rover,And half of all my having were wealth enough for me,—Mine the stream's clear heart, where lonely pines brood over,And mine the secret throbbing at the heart of every tree.