To a Canary
Piano, pianissimo, gay yellow bird, not so loud, I beg of you!
We're trying to make a bit of a song, I and my old bassoon.
We know our toodling is dreadfully vague, as vague as our innermost selves.
But we didn't learn in a cage, dear bird; we were born in the woods.
Piano, pianissimo, gay yellow bird, not so loud, I beg of you!
A moment ago, how happy we were; we'd almost made our tune.
You with your purling, chirping and trills, stopped it, silenced it short.
You with your noise that you fling at us — we who revere your art.
Piano, pianissimo, gay yellow bird, not so loud, I beg of you!
Can't you hear how undone we are, humbled, I and bassoon?
Is singing a killing of amateurs? — that isn't big but vain.
And we sang to nobody but ourselves; we left the world to you.
We're trying to make a bit of a song, I and my old bassoon.
We know our toodling is dreadfully vague, as vague as our innermost selves.
But we didn't learn in a cage, dear bird; we were born in the woods.
Piano, pianissimo, gay yellow bird, not so loud, I beg of you!
A moment ago, how happy we were; we'd almost made our tune.
You with your purling, chirping and trills, stopped it, silenced it short.
You with your noise that you fling at us — we who revere your art.
Piano, pianissimo, gay yellow bird, not so loud, I beg of you!
Can't you hear how undone we are, humbled, I and bassoon?
Is singing a killing of amateurs? — that isn't big but vain.
And we sang to nobody but ourselves; we left the world to you.
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