A sparrow awoke and sang good morn
To greet a dawn that seemed forlorn
Her lil' heart seemed to burst, as she
Poured out her love, in song, for me.
I could not tell what song she sang
Whether for the man whom today would hang
Or for the lovers on rose-strewn walks
Or for the lilies wilted on their stalks.
Did she sing for joy or sorrow
Did she think of what comes tomorrow
Though her face seemed radiant quite
And her spirit carefree and light.
The sparrow worries not of petty things
And longs not for finery or jewelléd rings
Or does she? This I cannot say
She never seems anything less than gay.
How pleasant just to sit and sing
And if I wished, to lift my wing
To soar, to sail, to sing my fill
To watch lovers love, perched on a windowsill.
Maybe she hides her troubles well
And waits until her heart doth swell
Then releases her pains, her worries, in song
And bids the winds carry them along
Ah! that I might do as well
No use to leave my heart in Hell
My thanks, little sparrow, for your lesson in love
I smile as she's lost in the clouds high above.