The ardent woodbird seeks his mate And tells his hopes in trembling song; Dear love, my heart, no less elate, Sings of you all day long! The woodbird shapes his fragile nest Among the branches, leafless yet, Nor fears the maple will forget To shelter well its guest. I have no mansion grand for you; My hands must rear the home we share; With life so young, our nest so new, And love to make it fair, May we not trust that time will bring The richer shelter—that the days Will ever higher hopes upraise, And still our hearts may sing? The woodbird's faith is firm and high; Joy wingeth ever by his side; Sweetheart, with your dear presence nigh, I fear not storm or tide. The summer cometh to eclipse With bloom and green the striving soil; Your smile shall garnish all my toil, And heaven kiss my lips! |