Here they come, and ever so many, 

Like sudden blossoms blown from the tree;

Oh, they are the bonniest birds of any, 

And they are the birds for you and me.

Why, yes, the others were redder and bluer, 

Those friends of the flowers, here and away,

On the breath of a rose! But these are the truer, 

Because they come in the cold, and stay.

And the others sung! Alack for their singing!

It was only about the birds and the sun. 

Now that the frost to the world is clinging,

If we ask for a song, will they give us one?

But these little fellows are brave and merry, 

And sweeter, I tell you, than all the rest,

(Why, they never heard of a grape or a cherry!) 

And they are the birds we will love the best.