Chickadee

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee!     That was the song that he sang to me Sang     from his perch in the willow tree     Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.     My little brown bird,     The song that I heard     Was a happier song than the minstrels sing     A paean of joy and a carol of spring;     And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee     Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.     My birdie looked wise     With his little black eyes,     As he peeked and peered from his perch at me     With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee,     As if he would say     Sing trouble away,     Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.     Only one note     From his silver throat;     Only one word     From my wise little bird;     But a sweeter note or a wiser word     From the tongue of mortal I never have heard,     Than my little philosopher sang to me     From his bending perch in the willow tree     Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.     Come foul or fair,     Come trouble and care     No never a sigh     Or a thought of despair!     For my little bird sings in my heart to me,     As he sang from his perch in the willow tree     Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee dee:     Chickadee-dee, chickadee-dee;     Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.