The ground was frozen one wintery day.
Little Emily sat at her window to play,
Tossing out crumbs for a bird in the tree,
Who was merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee.

'Oh, Mother, do get him some stockings and shoes,
A little frock, and a hat if he choose.
Oh! I wish he'd come in our parlor and see
How warm we would make him. Poor chick-a-dee-dee.'

The bird flew down for some crumbs of bread
And heard every word little Emily had said.
'What a picture I'd make in that dress,' thought he.
And he laughed as he warbled his chick-a-dee-dee.

'I am grateful,' said he 'for the wish you express,
But I have no occasion for such a fine dress.
I'd rather remain with my little wings free
Than to hobble in shoes, singing 'chick-a-dee-dee.'

'There is one, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,
That clothed me already and warm enough, too.
So who do you know as merry as me?'
And away he flew, singing 'chick-a-dee-dee.'