THE FIFTEEN ACRES

I cling and swing On a branch, or sing Through the cool, clear hush of Morning, O: Or fling my wing On the air, and bring To sleepier birds a warning, O: That the night's in flight, And the sun's in sight, And the dew is the grass adorning, O: And the green leaves swing As I sing, sing, sing, Up by the river, Down the dell, To the little wee nest, Where the big tree fell, So early in the morning, O.

I flit and twit In the sun for a bit When his light so bright is shining, O: Or sit and fit My plumes, or knit Straw plaits for the nest's nice lining, O: And she with glee Shows unto me Underneath her wings reclining, O: And I sing that Peg Has an egg, egg, egg, Up by the oat-field, Round the mill, Past the meadow, Down the hill, So early in the morning, O.

I stoop and swoop On the air, or loop Through the trees, and then go soaring, O To group with a troop On the gusty poop While the wind behind is roaring, O: I skim and swim By a cloud's red rim And up to the azure flooring, O: And my wide wings drip As I slip, slip, slip Down through the rain-drops, Back where Peg Broods in the nest On the little white egg, So early in the morning, O.