Oh little bird with head atilt,
In safety drinking as thou wilt
From out the wayside found;
Unmindful of the noisy crowd profane,
What fears thy wings surmount! Oh blithesome, eager little bird,
With reverent head turned heavenward,
I feel thy silent thanks!
The charm within the voice of men,
The potency of gift of pen,
Thy gratitude outranks. So would I find some wayside pool,
Some sheltered spot with water cool
From which no more to shrink.
Oh little bird with head atilt,
Would I had wings to soar 'bove guilt
And share thy tranquil drink!