That lilting lay the wiree trilled,
Like raptures of a lover,
“Wir-ree, Wir-ee, Itchong, Itchong”—
Then rippled through its liquid song,
Leaf-hidden in the cover.
And one has seen the love arise
To shade the light of laughing eyes
Like white clouds in December;
But one has felt the piercing pang
That thrilled the song the wiree sang—