The leaves, the little birds, and I,
Fleecy clouds in a sweet, sweet sky;
The pages singing as they ride
Down there, down there where the river is wide.
Heigh-ho, what a day! What a lovely day!
Even too lovely to hop and play
With my sheep
Or sleep
In the sun!

And as I lie in the deep, deep grass
And watch the pages as the pass
And sing to them as they to me
Till they turn the bend by the poplar tree.
And then—O then, I sing right on
To the leaves and the lambs and myself alone!
For I think there must be
Inside of me
A bird!