Classic Poem

Pretty little three
Sparrows in a tree,
 Light upon the wing;
 Tho' you cannot sing
 You can chirp of Spring:
Chirp of Spring to me,
Sparrows, from your tree.

Never mind the showers,
Chirp about the flowers
 While you build a nest:
 Straws from east and west,
 Feathers from your breast,
Make the snuggest bowers
In a world of flowers.

You must dart away
From the chosen spray,
 You intrusive third
 Extra little bird;
 Join the unwedded herd!
These have done with play,
And must work today.

 APRIL.[Appearing at the open door.]

Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly,
Of all the flying months you're the most flying.

 MARCH.

You're hope and sweetness, April.

 APRIL.

Birth means dying,
As wings and wind mean flying;
So you and I and all things fly or die;
And sometimes I sit sighing to think of dying.
But meanwhile I've a rainbow in my showers,
And a lapful of flowers,
And these dear nestlings aged three hours;
And here's their mother sitting,
Their father's merely flitting
To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers.[As she speaks April shows March her apron full of flowers and nest full of birds. March wanders away into the grounds. April, without entering the cottage, hangs over the hungry nestlings watching them.]

 APRIL.

What beaks you have, you funny things,
 What voices shrill and weak;
Who'd think that anything that sings
 Could sing thro' such a beak?
Yet you'll be nightingales one day,
 And charm the country side,
When I'm away and far away
 And May is queen and bride.[May arrives unperceived by April, and gives her a kiss. April starts and looks round.]

 APRIL.

Ah May, good-morrow May, and so good-bye.