One syllable, clear and soft As a raindrop's silvery patter, Or a tinkling fairy-bell, heard aloft, In the midst of the merry chatter Of robin and linnet and wren and jay, One syllable, oft-repeated: He has but a word to say, And of that he will not be cheated.
The singer I have not seen; But the song I arise and follow The brown hills over, the pastures green, And into the sunlit hollow. With the joy of a lowly heart's content I can feel my glad eyes glisten, Though he hides in his happy tent, While I stand outside and listen.
This way would I also sing, My dear little hillside neighbor! A tender carol of peace to bring To the sunburnt fields of labor, Is better than making a loud ado. Trill on, amid clover and yarrow: There's a heart-beat echoing you, And blessing you, blithe little sparrow!
Glad to see you, little bird; 'Twas your little chirp I heard: What did you intend to say? "Give me something this cold day?"
That I will, and plenty too; All the crumbs I saved for you. Don't be frightened: here's a treat. I will wait and see you eat.
Shocking tales I hear of you; Chirp, and tell me, are they true? Robbing all the summer long; Don't you think it very wrong?
Thomas says you steal his wheat; John complains his plums you eat, Choose the ripest for your share, Never asking whose they are?
But I will not try to know What you did so long ago: There's your breakfast; eat away; Come and see me every day.
Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear What happened to Piccola, children dear? 'Tis seldom Fortune such favor grants As fell to this little maid of France.
'Twas Christmas-time, and her parents poor Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, Striving with poverty's patient pain Only to live till summer again.
No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they When dawned the morning of Christmas Day; Their little darling no joy might stir, St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her!
But Piccola never doubted at all That something beautiful must befall Every child upon Christmas Day, And so she slept till the dawn was gray.
And, full of faith, when at last she woke, She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; Such sounds of gladness tilled all the air, 'Twas plain St. Nicholas had been there!
In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild: Never was seen such a joyful child. "See what the good saint brought!" she cried, And mother and father must peep inside.