  Heigho, sparrow! Reckless of the rain; When chill the cheerless wind grows, Chirping might and main! Is it naught, then, when the rose Blows again? Beating, sleeting on your draggled coat! Surely, ’tis enough to drown Any happy note Nestling in that downy brown Little throat. Ah me, sparrow! Had I but your power, Think you in the freezing sleet I would waste an hour? —I’d sing my sweetest to a sweet Orange flower!
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