I have a Bird in spring,

Which for myself doth sing—

The spring decoys.

And as the summer nears—

And as the rose appears,

Robin is gone.

Yet I do not repine,

Knowing that Bird of mine,

Though flown—

Learneth beyond the sea,

Melody new for me,

And will return.

Fast is a safer hand,

Held in a truer Land,

Are mine—

And though they now depart,

Tell me my doubting heart,

They’re thine.

In a serener Bright,

In a more golden light,

I see,

Each little doubt and fear,

Each little discord here,

Removed.

Then will I not repine,

Knowing that Bird of mine,

Though flown,

Shall in a distant tree,

Bright melody for me,

Return.