My Little Bird

 

 

My little bird has flown her nest

   —How sad, how sad am I!

To think I did my level best,

   To teach her how to fly.

In one heartrending final test,

   With never a chirped goodbye!

Her winsome wings, at life’s behest,

   Took to the western sky.

 

No more shall gape the wee brown beak,

   Upon my swift return;

No more shall I kiss dear her cheek,

   Upon her bed of fern.

No more shall hush the darling peep,

   To hear my lullaby;

No more beneath my breast she’ll sleep,

   Though ever I shall cry.

 

O little bird, so spirit-blessed

   —How sad, how sad am I!

All mine I did in yours invest,

   Where ever it shall lie.

Was ever young hen more distressed,

   Did ever one old more sigh?

No prayer can grant my life’s request

   That I might prophesy:

 

Where sing you my once-speckled egg?

   Where sleep you (warm?) at night?

Find you fat worms enough who beg

   They foil your early sight?

And will your warble, sweetly heard,

   Soon win for you a mate?

And will you, too, a little bird,

   Leave sad more soon than late?

 

 

My little bird has flown her nest

   —How sad, how sad am I!

To think I made it my life’s quest

   To teach her how to fly.

Was ever a mother sadder pressed

   To kiss her bairn goodbye?

My heart has flown from out my breast.

   How sad, how sad am I!