Of all the birds that rove and sing,
Near dwellings made for men,
None is so nimble, feat, and trim
As Jenny Wren.

With pin-point bill, and a tail a-cock,
So wildly shrill she cries,
The echoes on his roof-tree knock
And fill the skies.

Never was sweeter seraph hid
Within so small a house —
A tiny, inch-long, eager, ardent,
Feathered mouse.