| |
| IN a branch of willow hid | |
| Sings the evening Caty-did: | |
| From the lofty-locust bough | |
| Feeding on a drop of dew, | |
| In her suit of green arrayed | 5 |
| Hear her singing in the shade— | |
| Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did! | |
| |
| While upon a leaf you tread, | |
| Or repose your little head | |
| On your sheet of shadows laid, | 10 |
| All the day you nothing said: | |
| Half the night your cheery tongue | |
| Revelled out its little song,— | |
| Nothing else but Caty-did. | |
| |
| From your lodging on the leaf | 15 |
| Did you utter joy or grief? | |
| Did you only mean to say, | |
| I have had my summer’s day, | |
| And am passing, soon, away | |
| To the grave of Caty-did: | 20 |
| Poor, unhappy Caty-did! | |
| |
| But you would have uttered more | |
| Had you known of nature’s power; | |
| From the world when you retreat, | |
| And a leaf’s your winding sheet, | 25 |
| Long before your spirit fled, | |
| Who can tell but nature said,— | |
| Live again, my Caty-did! | |
| Live, and chatter Caty-did. | |
| |
| Tell me, what did Caty do? | 30 |
| Did she mean to trouble you? | |
| Why was Caty not forbid | |
| To trouble little Caty-did? | |
| Wrong, indeed, at you to fling, | |
| Hurting no one while you sing,— | 35 |
| Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did! | |
| |
| Why continue to complain? | |
| Caty tells me she again | |
| Will not give you plague or pain; | |
| Caty says you may be hid, | 40 |
| Caty will not go to bed | |
| While you sing us Caty-did,— | |
| Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did! | |
| |
| But, while singing, you forgot | |
| To tell us what did Caty not: | 45 |
| Caty did not think of cold, | |
| Flocks retiring to the fold, | |
| Winter with his wrinkles old; | |
| Winter, that yourself foretold | |
| When you gave us Caty-did. | 50 |
| |
| Stay serenely on your nest; | |
| Caty now will do her best, | |
| All she can, to make you blest; | |
| But you want no human aid,— | |
| Nature, when she formed you, said, | 55 |
| “Independent you are made, | |
| My dear little Caty-did: | |
| Soon yourself must disappear | |
| With the verdure of the year,” | |
| And to go, we know not where, | 60 |
| With your song of Caty-did. | |
| |
