Birds all the sunny day flutter and quarrel
Here in the arbor-like tent of the laurel.

Here in the fork the brown nest is seated;
Four little blue eggs the mother keeps heated.

While we stand watching her, staring like gabies,
Safe in each egg are the bird's little babies.

Soon the frail eggs they shall chip, and up-springing,
Make all the April woods merry with singing.

Younger than we are, O children, and frailer,
Soon in blue air they'll be, singer and sailor.

We, so much older, taller and stronger,
We shall look down on the birdies no longer.

They shall go flying with musical speeches
High overhead in the tops of the beeches.

In spite of our wisdom and sensible talking,
We on our feet must go plodding and walking.