When, with her sandals green, the Spring
Steals on, with timid pattering,
And tearful lids and wind-blown hair
Half-veil the face we find so fair;
Into my window, morn by morn,
The sparrow's simple strain is borne,
With varied carols that express
His wild and happy carelessness.
And as I hear his roundelay,
Sometimes, with half a sigh, I say;
" O sparrow, were you caged like me
Would you exult so ringingly?
Or did you bear a broken wing,
My gentle neighbor, could you sing? "