A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree,
Sang in the moonshine, merrily,
Three little songs, one, two, and three,
A song for his wife, for himself, and me.
He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high,
Filling the moonlight that filled the sky;
“Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive!
Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!”
He sang to himself, “What shall I do
With this life that thrills me through and through!
Glad is so glad that it turns to ache!
Out with it, song, or my heart will break!”
He sang to me, “Man, do not fear
Though the moon goes down and the dark is near;
Listen my song and rest thine eyes;
Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!”
I folded me up in the heart of his tune,
And fell asleep with the sinking moon;
I woke with the day’s first golden gleam,
And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream!