“Men know but little more than we,

Who count us least of things terrene,

How happy days are made to be!

“Of such strange tidings what think ye,

O birds in brown that peck and preen?

Men know but little more than we!

“When I was borne from yonder tree

In bonds to them, I hoped to glean

How happy days are made to be,

“And want and wailing turned to glee;

Alas, despite their mighty mien

Men know but little more than we!

“They cannot change the Frost’s decree,

They cannot keep the skies serene;

How happy days are made to be

“Eludes great Man’s sagacity

No less than ours, O tribes in treen!

Men know but little more than we

How happy days are made to be.”