Xxxvii

That little bird sings all the time As one song with life ringing; So wonder not, if one does love, That he’ll pass life in singing.

And that bird speaks from heart to heart, And it knows how, directly, So that man hardly keeps back tears, If he knows hearts perfectly.

Yes, often it appears to me That I am as its fellow, For my songs, too, can move to tears, So soft they are, and mellow.