Full Lyrics
Blythe is the bird who wings the plain,
Nor sows, nor reaps, a single grain;
Whose only labour is to sing,
Through Autumn, Summer, Winter, Spring.
At night his little meal he finds,
Nor heeds what fare may next betide;
The change of seasons nought he minds,
But for his wants lets Heaven provide.
Oft on the branch he perches gay,
Oft on his painted wings looks he:
And penniless renews his lay,
Rejoicing in unbounded glee.
