GOOD-BY, LITTLE BIRD.
Good-by, little bird, the storm-clouds
Are gathering gray and drear;
At the chilly touch of the Frost-king
The sunbeams have paled with fear;
Wither’d, the leaves, and fallen lie;
Sadly the winds of autumn sigh;
Good-by, little bird, good-by, good-by;
Little bird, stay not here.
Good-by, little bird, I see thee
Winging thy southward way
To a sunny land thou knowest,
Caroling as thou goest,
Singing a blithesome lay.
Alas, and alas, no longer
Shall thy tuneful voice be heard,
Till the leafless limbs be clothed again,
And the blossoms gladden hill and glen.
Good-by, good-by, little bird, till then;
Good-by, good-by, little bird.