And when I've sung the book all through,
And every page, around,
I stand it upside down and sing,
To see how that will sound.
I sing how all the things outside
The window look to me;
The shiny wrinkles in the road,
And then, about my Tree;
THE GREEN SINGING-BOOK
I sing about the City, too,
The noises and the wheels;
And Windows blinking in the sun;—
I sing the way it feels.
And if a Sparrow flies across,
I put him in the Song.—
I sing whatever happens in,
To make it last for long.
I sing about the things I think
Of almost everything.
Sometimes I don't know what to Think
—Till I begin to Sing.