Birdies dancing on the snow,
Merry as if this were June;
And the little wiry feet
Skipping to the gayest tune;
With no stockings and no shoes,
Chirping forth the morning news.
O, you’ll freeze your tiny feet
While you chipper glad and sweet!
“Freeze?” they chipper, “no, for we
Are the snow-birds, don’t you see?
This is telling our delight
For the morning golden-bright,
As we breakfast on the seeds
Gathered from the old dry weeds.
Does your song of praises flow
Glad, as we chirp on the snow?”