I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry:
He starts not at [my fitful song],
Nor [flash of fluttering drapery].
He has no thought of any wrong,
He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.
Comrade, where wilt thou be tonight,
When the [loosed storm breaks furiously]?