The Chickadee 



By H. L. Gordon 



Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee ! 

 That was the song that he sang to me — 

 Sang from his perch in the willow tree — 

 Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee. 



My little brown bird, 



The song that I heard 

 Was a happier song than the minstrels sing, — 

 A paean of joy and a carol of spring; 

 And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee, 

 Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee. 



My birdie looked wise 



With his little black eyes. 

 As he peeked and peered from his perch at me, 

 With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee, 



As if he would say — 



Sing trouble away, 

 Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee. 



Only one note 



From his silver throat ; 



Only one word 



From my wise little bird; 

 But a sweeter note or a wiser word 

 From the tongue of mortal I never heard 

 Than my little philosopher sang to me 

 From his bending perch in the willow tree, 

 Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee. 



Come foul or fair, 



Come trouble and care — 



No — never a sigh 



Or a thought of despair ! 

 For my little bird sings in my heart to me. 

 As he sang from his perch in the willow tree — 

 Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee ; 

 Chickadee-dee, chickadee-dee ; 

 Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee. 



200 



