CHICKADEE

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee!

That was the song that he sang to me — Sang

from his perch in the willow tree —

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

My little brown bird,

The song that I heard

Was a happier song than the minstrels sing —

A paean of joy and a carol of spring;

And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

My birdie looked wise

With his little black eyes,

As he peeked and peered from his perch at me

With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee,

As if he would say —

Sing trouble away,

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

Only one note

From his silver throat;

Only one word

From my wise little bird;

But a sweeter note or a wiser word

From the tongue of mortal I never have heard,

Than my little philosopher sang to me

From his bending perch in the willow tree —

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

Come foul or fair,

Come trouble and care —

No — never a sigh

Or a thought of despair!

For my little bird sings in my heart to me,

As he sang from his perch in the willow tree —

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee dee:

Chickadee-dee, chickadee-dee;

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.