Birds all the summer day 
Flutter and quarrel 
Here in the arbour-like 
Tent of the laurel. 

Here in the fork 
The brown nest is seated; 
For little blue eggs 
The mother keeps heated. 

While we stand watching her 
Staring like gabies, 
Safe in each egg are the 
Bird's little babies. 

Soon the frail eggs they shall 
Chip, and upspringing 
Make all the April woods 
Merry with singing. 

Younger than we are, 
O children, and frailer, 
Soon in the blue air they'll be, 
Singer and sailor. 

We, so much older, 
Taller and stronger, 
We shall look down on the 
Birdies no longer. 

They shall go flying 
With musical speeches 
High overhead in the 
Tops of the beeches. 

In spite of our wisdom 
And sensible talking, 
We on our feet must go 
Plodding and walking.