Jenny Wren

Her sight is short, she comes quite near;

A foot to me’s a mile to her;

And she is known as Jenny Wren,

The smallest bird in England.  When

I heard that little bird at first,

Methought her frame would surely burst

With earnest song.  Oft had I seen

Her running under leaves so green,

Or in the grass when fresh and wet,

As though her wings she would forget.

And, seeing this, I said to her-

“My pretty runner, you prefer

To be a thing to run unheard

Through leaves and grass, and not a bird!”

‘Twas then she burst, to prove me wrong,

Into a sudden storm of song;

So very loud and earnest, I

Feared she would break her heart and die.

“Nay, nay,” I laughed, “be you no thing

To run unheard, sweet scold, but sing!

O I could hear your voice near me,

Above the din in that oak tree,

When almost all the twigs on top

Had starlings singing without stop.”