But certainly that Spring bird there
Don't half believe the aforesaid terms.
He's sorry that he hither flew,
In hopes a forward March to find,
And towards warm climates, whence he came,
To backward march is sore inclined.
Lured by one ray of sunlight, he
Flew northward to our land of snow;
And now, with frozen toes, he stands
On frozen earth:—the worms—below!