Adrift upon a silver tide,
With banks of green on either side,
And, far above, a smiling sky,
A tiny craft goes floating by.
Queer little boat, this woven nest,
Where birdies three had tranquil rest
Until a rough wind shook the tree,
And sent them sailing off to sea.
Oh, father-bird and mother-bird,
In you what trouble will be stirred
When, home returned from weary flight,
You learn your babies' hapless plight!