Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south, Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream; I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth, And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.

I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky, And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest; And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die, With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.

Eversley, 1873