(Outside)
Pretty little three
Sparrows in a tree,
Light upon the wing;
Though you cannot sing
You can chirp of Spring:
Chirp of Spring to me,
Sparrows, from your tree.
Never mind the showers,
Chirp about the flowers
While you build a nest:
Straws from east and west,
Feathers from your breast,
Make the snuggest bowers
In a world of flowers.
(Appearing at the open door)
Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly,
Of all the flying months you’re the most flying.
March
You’re hope and sweetness, April.
April
I’ve a rainbow in my showers
And a lapful of flowers,
And these dear nestlings aged three hours;
And here’s their mother sitting;
Their father’s merely flitting
To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers.