Bird. Nay, little damsel,—away I’ll fly
To greener fields and warmer sky;
When spring returns with pattering rain,
You’ll hear my merry song again.
Maiden. Little bird, little bird, who’ll guide thee,
Over the hills and over the sea?
Foolish one, come in the house to stay,
For I’m very sure you’ll lose your way.
Bird. Ah, no, little maiden, God guides me,
Over the hills and over the sea.
I will be free as the rushing air,
And sing of sunshine everywhere.
—Lydia Maria Child.
THE LITTLE FISH
Fisherman. Aha! I have you at last, little fish.
Little Fish. O Mr. Fisherman, please put me back into the water.
Fisherman. Put you back? No, I will not!
Little Fish. I beg you, put me back. I am so little.