  (By a Light Sleeper.) "Ye little birds that sit and sing" Outside my window when the day is dawning. How I should like your little necks to wring, I fain would sleep, with weariness I'm yawning. Although for rest you may not feel inclined, Do cease, I beg of you, that aimless twitter: Try without noise the early worm to find. Why should you seek my rest-time to embitter? No doubt you think your maddening cheep Sweeter than song of nightingale or linnet, But, tossing here with imprecations deep, I do declare I find no sweetness in it. "Higher up! move on!" or stay and hold your tongues, Had I a gun, the twig you'd quickly hop it; I wish you'd exercise your little lungs A thousand miles from here. In mercy stop it! |
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