When on a summer's morn I wake,
    And open my two eyes, 
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
    My bird-like spirit flies.

To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
    Or any bird in song; 
And common leaves that hum all day
    Without a throat or tongue.

And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
    Back in my room alone, 
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
    And one that's all my own.