Song

"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole Where the elms stir, Flaunting her gourd-like nest On the tree's swaying crest: "May's here, I cannot rest, Go away; tshirr!"

"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole Where the leaves blur, Giving her threads a jerk, Spying where rivals lurk, "May's here, and I'm at work. Go away, tshirr!"