The woodman sits snug at his hearth,
The ground is all cover'd with snow,
The foliage has gone from the earth,
Then go, little snow-bird, now go!

The woodpecker, raven, and all,
Have hid them secure in their hold;
And the snow yet continues to fall,—
The weather is chilly and cold.

Thou art a precursor of ill
To the sad, unfortunate poor;
For the snowflakes follow thee still,
And lie cold at the poor man's door.

The swallow hath gone to the barn,
And the cuckoo, the robin, and wren;—
Then go, little bird, when 'tis warm,
Nor pay us a visit again.