Poetry Archives

Don’t kill the birds, the pretty birds
  That sing about your door,
Soon as the joyous spring has come
  And chilling storms are o’er.
The little birds, how sweet they sing!
  Oh, let them joyous live,
And never seek to take the life
  That you can never give!

Don’t kill the birds, the pretty birds
  That play among the trees;
’Twould make the earth a cheerless place
  Should we dispense with these.
The little birds, how fond they play!
  Do not disturb their sport;
But let them warble forth their songs
  Till winter cuts them short.

Don’t kill the birds, the happy birds,
  That bless the fields and grove;
So innocent to look upon,
  They claim our warmest love.
The happy birds, the tuneful birds,
  How pleasant ’tis to see!
No spot can be a cheerless place
  Where’er their presence be.