The skies can’t keep my secret!
They tell it to the hills—
The hills just tell the orchards—
And they the daffodils!
A bird, by chance, that goes that way
Soft overheard the whole.
Should I bribe the little bird,
Or smash it with my sole?
I know I won’t—nor will I
Cage her with some bars;
Instead I’ll simply pitch a rock
To make her head see stars.