Good day, little Fly,
Here we are—you and I,
The children of summer;
Warm your wings at the fire,
Take what food you desire,
Your lordship I 'll hire
As my fifer and drummer.

Outside the winds blow,
And the fast falling snow
From the gables is drifting;
The clouds seem to me
Like an overturned sea
Lashing field, fence, and tree,
Never breaking or lifting.

Tune up, little Friend,
Tell me winter will end,
And the spring-time is coming;
When the buds with surprise
Will rub their young eyes
And look up to the skies,
At thy fifing and drumming.

Sing me carols of May,
And of June and the hay,
With the sweet-smelling clover;
Of the soft winds that creep
Round my bed as I sleep,
When the dawn lights the deep,
And the long night is over.

Sing me songs of the brook
Where the little fish look
Up, with eyes full of wonder,
At the wind-shaken screen
Of the willows that lean
Over pools that are green
As the boughs they sleep under.

Tune up, little Friend,
For the winter will end,—
Be my fifer and drummer;
And thy one song repeat,
Till its buzz and the heat
Give my dreaming the sweet
Taste of meadows and summer.