1. Silent, except in spring when it is
Like an old tree in the fleeing seasons,

2. It came to praise the flowers on its branches
As lovers praise the beauty of their belovèd,

3. It changes tunes when asked to change,
As the nimblest fingers change their strokes,

4. It sings to us in the meters of its poetry,
But with rare, wondrous rhyming schemes,

5. When it begins chanting satire to you and you tell it
“Change!”—it chants to you in harmonies,

6. Its voice lacks the warbling of turtle doves
But sings to all who cry out and drink.