Bird up in the pine-tree-top,
Tossing down to me
Broken songs, to where I sit
Underneath the tree,—
Bird up in the pine-tree-top,
What is it you hear
That you try to say again
In your singing clear?
What is it you see up there
In the green and blue?
Does the world look very strange,—
Strange and fair to you?
Do you see some happy thing
That you try to show
In the eager chirps you toss
Gayly down below?

You are singing secrets, bird,
I am very sure.
I can understand no word,
But, oh, try once more!
Bird up in the pine-tree-top,
Sing again to me!
Maybe I can hear it now!
Maybe I can see!