Birds in Summer
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,
That open to sun and stars and moon,
That open unto the bright, blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds as they wander by.
They have left their nest in the forest bough;
Those homes of delight they need not now;
And the young and the old. they wander out,
And traverse the green world round about;
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall.
How one to the other they lovingly call:
“Come up, come up,” they seem to say,
“Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway.”
“Come up, come up, for the world is fair,
Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air.”
And the birds below give back the civ:
We come, we come, to the branches high!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in a leafy tree;
And away through the air what joy to go.
And look on the bright green earth below.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea.
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be, to sail, upborne
By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn,
To meet the young sun face to face.
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls.
Bashing adown ‘mid the waterfalls,
Then wheeling about with its unite at play,
Above and below, and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!
What a joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about ’mong the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladdens some fairy region old!
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be.
by Mary Howitt
Mary Howitt was born as Mary Botham on 12 March 1799 in Coleford, Gloucestershire, England. She was a member of the Quaker denomination of Christianity. She was married to William Howitt on 16 April 1821. Mary Howitt became a writer and a poet, and translated works by Hans Christian Andersen and Frederika Bremer into English. She is known as the author of the poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829). Mary Howitt passed on at 88 years of age on 30 January 1888 in Rome, Italy.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,
That open to sun and stars and moon,
That open unto the bright, blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds as they wander by.
They have left their nest in the forest bough;
Those homes of delight they need not now;
And the young and the old. they wander out,
And traverse the green world round about;
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall.
How one to the other they lovingly call:
“Come up, come up,” they seem to say,
“Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway.”
“Come up, come up, for the world is fair,
Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air.”
And the birds below give back the civ:
We come, we come, to the branches high!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in a leafy tree;
And away through the air what joy to go.
And look on the bright green earth below.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea.
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be, to sail, upborne
By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn,
To meet the young sun face to face.
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls.
Bashing adown ‘mid the waterfalls,
Then wheeling about with its unite at play,
Above and below, and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!
What a joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about ’mong the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladdens some fairy region old!
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be.
by Mary Howitt
Mary Howitt was born as Mary Botham on 12 March 1799 in Coleford, Gloucestershire, England. She was a member of the Quaker denomination of Christianity. She was married to William Howitt on 16 April 1821. Mary Howitt became a writer and a poet, and translated works by Hans Christian Andersen and Frederika Bremer into English. She is known as the author of the poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829). Mary Howitt passed on at 88 years of age on 30 January 1888 in Rome, Italy.
