The sparrow had followed the glory awing,
As the oriole flashed through the trees,
To his nest's dainty swing, with his song's sweet ring;
"Oh," he said, "mine shall be like to these!"
And the sparrow knew not his coat was plain
As he dwelt in the oriole's tree,
And tirelessly chipped at his tiresome strain,
And fashioned his nest with a duller brain,
But withal with an equal glee.