Oh, if I could happy sparrow be
And follow you each morn,
I’d cheep and cheep to make sure ye
Would never walk forlorn.
Then you would stop and look at me
And tilt your head so sweet
That I would fall right off the tree
To land right at your feet!
Then you’d say, “Oh, my sparrow friend,
You’re like that poet, dear,
Who’s always falling off the cliff
When I do bring him cheer.
“He says he ties him to a rock
And has a good hand-hold,
But it must be a tiny rock—
He falls so free and bold.
“He must hold grass and empty air,
Or maybe drops of rain,
And then he shouts, as if ‘t were rare,
‘Oh Love, I fall again!’
“Yet I am happy, sparrow bird,
Because he falls for me,
And if you’d stay a sparrow bird
He’s best not fall for thee!”