For cold blows the wind o’er the housetop
And bitter and bleak is the day.
“You two little balls of brown feathers!
You chattering he and she!
Of what are you thinking, my pretty ones,
As you nestle close under the lea?”
“Shall we tell you,” they twitter in chorus,
“Our thoughts in this sharp winter air,
Through which the chill ice drops are falling
O’er treetops so wind-torn and bare?