When on a summer's morn I wake, 
And open my two eyes, 
Out to the clear, born-singing rills 
My bird-like spirit flies.

To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, 
Or any bird in song; 
And common leaves that hum all day 
Without a throat or tongue.

And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, 
Back in my room alone, 
My heart has many a sweet bird's song -- 
And one that's all my own.