I know the song that the bluebird is singing—
Out in the apple tree where he is swinging.
Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary;
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.
Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat.
Hark! was there ever so merry a note?
Listen a while and you’ll hear what he’s saying
Up in the apple tree swinging and swaying:
“Dear little blossoms down under the snow,