Each flower a single fragrance gives,
But not the perfume of the rest;
Within each fruit one flavor lives,
Not all the flavors of our quest;
In every bird one song we note
That seems the sweeter without words;
Yet from the mock-bird's mellow throat
Come all the songs of other birds.

Thou graceful, active, handsome thing
To please the eye and charm the soul;
Thy songs no other bird may sing,
Such wondrous notes thou dost control:
Thou canst outsing the nightingale,
The lark, the thrush, the whippoorwill;
To hear thee far outrun their scale,
The blithe canaries cease their trill.

Why should we call thee " mocking-bird " ?
So sweet thy song, so full and free,
Once thy enchanting notes are heard,
All other birds seem mocking thee.
Should any bird his song forget.
He could of thee that song relearn,
And singing bolder, richer yet,
Still higher praise from mortals earn.

Within thy southern, sunny clime,
Our ears enamored of thy song,
We pause to listen any time
And give thee encore all day long.
Fair wood-nymphs, how we envy thee
Thy moonlight serenade so rare,
Whene'er the mock-bird's melody
Is poured upon the midnight air.