As the night has gone away, A hasty rush comes over the morn, And I, eager for the day, Share in the strength of the lonely morning sparrow That shrugs its shoulders And laughs aloud at being born. The silhouette fades As the red-faced sun runs up the hill. The emerald turns to jade, And the sparrow laughs and sings As the dulling day warms its wings And shakes off the evening chill. And sleepy-eyed it pecks aloud As the same hasty rush comes over your soul; For you are not earnest like the brown-feathered sparrow, Rather more like the reckless and whimsical gull. Wrapped are your days in cellophane, Oh heartless and untrue, For one day, the sparrow with snow-covered wings, On icy branches will shiver and sing And dance on the rooftops by the old weathervane As it wakes to the silence of a cold, cold morning That has left only the crumbs of people like you. So sleep, fatted calves, on your billowy pole, And wake not to the lonely sparrow's song. And on Heavenly flight, without wings, without soul, Wince not for the sparrow which has done the world no wrong, But which sadly, some day, must swallow you whole.