Heigho, sparrow! Reckless of the rain;
When chill the cheerless wind grows,
Chirping might and main!
Is it naught, then, when the rose
Blows again?
Beating, sleeting on your draggled coat!
Surely, 'tis enough to drown
Any happy note
Nestling in that downy brown
Little throat.
Ah me, sparrow! Had I but your power,
Think you in the freezing sleet
I would waste an hour?
—I'd sing my sweetest to a sweet
Orange flower!