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The days are long, love,
And the nights are dreadful
And there is no time when I find ease
And I curse the birds in the morning
When they waken me from my sleep

Ah, but the bird, love
Flies over the ocean
The bird, the bird flies o'er the sea
Isn't that a clever little bird
To make him a home in any old tree?

The bird does wrong, love,
To whistle in the morning
And sing those strange sweet songs in his tree
Isn't that a wicked little bird
To sing those terrible songs to me?

What's wrong, love,
That you cry all the morning
And it gets worse day by day by day by day
And there is no reason in your answers
And I can't understand what you say

The beast is come, love
Into the day and the evening
And in the garden peeping through the bush at me
I know he, he sees me

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