The Caged Bird's Song.

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO HIS PATRONESS AND FRIEND, BY THE LITTLE, BROWN SINGER HIMSELF.


                    Merrily!
                    Merrily!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
What can the meaning of these things be?
Tiniest buds and leaflets green -
Who shall tell me what these things mean?
                    Merrily!
                    Merrily!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
Much I guess they were meant for me!

                    Tsu-ert!
                    Tsu-ert!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
So I shall eat them up you see
Somebody, somewhere, is kindly stirred
To think of me, a poor, brown bird! -
                    Merrily!
                    Merrily!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
Somebody, somewhere, thinks of me!

                    Tsu-ert!
                    Tsu-ert!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
"A gentle lady?" - and can it be? -
Say it again, 'tis a pleasant word,
Thinking of me, your poor, brown bird! -
                    Merrily!
                    Merrily!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
Bless the lady that thinks of me

                    Tsu-ert!
                    Tsu-ert!
        Tschee: tschee! tschee!
So I shall eat them up, you see!
Hi, a nip here! and ho, a nip there!
Bless me, mistress, how sweet they are!
                    Merrily!
                    Merrily!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
Bless the lady who thinks of me!

                    Tsu-ert!
                    Tsu-ert!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
Merrily, merrily, let it be! -
Hi, a nip here! and ho, a nip there!
Over, under, everywhere!
                    Merrily!
                    Merrily!
        Tschee! tschee! tschee!
Somebody, somewhere, thinks of me!

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Dance Of The Winds

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Our Country; - Or, - A Century Of Progress.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

The Stray Lamb. A Grandmother's Story.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

Sweet Evening Bells

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Little Bird

I.

A Little bird sits in our cottonwood tree,
And perks his head and sings;
And this is the song he pipes to me
While he flirts his tail and wings:
"Hello! hello!
You jolly little fellow!
"Hello! hello! I say!
Do you hear me every morning
How I try to give you warning?
With my little song adorning
Every day, every day;
With my little song adorning every day.
I want to tell you this, sir:
You are sweeter than a kiss, sir,
You are fairer than a posy,
With your face so fresh and rosy;
Oh, I love to see you merry at your play,
Every day;
I love to see you laughing at your play.
Hello! hello!
You merry little fellow!"

II.

And I run to the tree where he sings and sits,
High up on the topmost limb;
And he...

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Chickadee

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 hav...

Hanford Lennox Gordon

I Am Doing No Good!

    "I am doing no good!" said a little rill,
As it rippled along at the foot of a hill,
"I am doing no good with my babbling here,
No one is listening, - no one is near!"

    "'No good! - no good!'" said a violet blue,
As it shook from its petals the sparkling dew,
And opened its wondering, azure eyes
To the soft, clear light of the morning skies.

    "'No good?'" - said a willow tree, bending low
To kiss the rivulet, "say not so!
Daily and hourly I draw from thee
The grace and beauty that dwell with me!"
And the rustling reeds in the marge that stood
Reproachfully murmured - "'no good! - no good!'"
    "'No good,' indeed!" - cried a dainty bird,
And she sprang from her nest as the sound she heard,
And fluttered her wings o'er the sorrowing stream...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Linnet.

Little linnet, - stop a minnit, -
Let me have a tawk with thee:
Tell me what this life has in it,
Maks thee seem so full o' glee?
Why is pleasure i' full measure,
Thine throo rooasy morn to neet,
Has ta fun some wondrous treasure,
Maks thi be for ivver breet?

-    -    -    -    -

Sang the linnet, - "wait a minnit,
Let me whisper in thine ear;
Life has lots o' pleasure in it,
Though a shadow's oftimes near.
Ivvery shoolder has its burden,
Ivvery heart its weight o' care;
But if bravely yo accept it,
Duty finds some pleasure thear.
Lazy louts dooant know what rest is, -
Those who labor find rest sweet;
Grumling souls ne'er know what best is, -
Blessins wither 'neath ther feet.
Sorrow needs noa invitation, -
Joy is shy a...

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The Cat-Bird

I.

The tufted gold of the sassafras,
And the gold of the spicewood-bush,
Bewilder the ways of the forest pass,
And brighten the underbrush:
The white-starred drifts of the wild-plum tree,
And the haw with its pearly plumes,
And the redbud, misted rosily,
Dazzle the woodland glooms.

II.

And I hear the song of the cat-bird wake
I' the boughs o' the gnarled wild-crab,
Or there where the snows of the dogwood shake
That the silvery sunbeams stab:
And it seems to me that a magic lies
In the crystal sweet of its notes,
That a myriad blossoms open their eyes
As its strain above them floats.

III.

I see the bluebell's blue unclose,
And the trillium's stainless white;
The bird-foot violet's purple and rose,
And ...

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Bird Song.

                Art thou not sweet,
Oh world, and glad to the inmost heart of thee!
        All creatures rejoice
        With one rapturous voice.
    As I, with the passionate beat
    Of my over-full heart feel thee sweet,
And all things that live, and are part of thee!

                Light, light as a cloud
Swimming, and trailing its shadow under me
        I float in the deep
        As a bird-dream in sleep,
    And hear the wind murmuring loud,
    Far down, where the tree-tops are bowed,--
And I see where the secret place of the thunders be

                Oh! the sky free and wide,
With all the cloud-banners flung out in it
        Its singing wind blows
        As a grand river flows,
    And I swim down its rhythmical tide,

Kate Seymour Maclean