Bluebird

Oh bluebird with light red breast,

And your blue back like a feathered sky,

You have to go down south

Before biting winter comes

And my flower-beds are covered with fluff out of the clouds.

Before you go,

Sing me one more song

Of tree-tops down south,

Of darkies singing their babies to sleep,

Of sand and glittering stones

Where rivers pass;

Then . . . good-by!