Quoth the boy, “I'll climb that tree,
And bring down a nest I know.”
Quoth the girl, “I will not see
Little birds defrauded so.
Cowardly their nests to take,
And their little hearts to break,
And their little eggs to steal.
Leave them happy for my sake,—
Surely little birds can feel!”

Quoth the boy, “My senses whirl;
Until now I never heard
Of the wisdom of a girl,
Or the feelings of a bird!
Pretty Mrs. Solomon,
Tell me what you reckon on
When you prate in such a strain;
If I wring their necks anon,
Certainly they might feel—pain!”
Quoth the girl, “I watch them talk,
Making love and making fun,
In the pretty ash-tree walk,
When my daily task is done.
In their little eyes I find
They are very fond and kind.
Every change of song or voice,

Plainly proveth to my mind,
They can suffer and rejoice.”
And the little Robin-bird
(Nice brown back and crimson breast)
All the conversation heard,
Sitting trembling in his nest.
What a world,” he cried, “of bliss,
Full of birds and girls, were this!
Blithe we'd answer to their call;
But a great mistake it is
Boys were ever made at all.”