And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark;

Now forth she fares thro' friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew,

While every voice cries out “Rejoice!” as if the world were new.

 This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, Unto his mate replying, Shaking the tune from his wings While he is flying: Surely, surely, surely, Life is dear Even here. Blue above, You to love, Purely, purely, purely.

This is the ballad the Bluebird sings,

Unto his mate replying,

Shaking the tune from his wings

While he is flying:

Surely, surely, surely,

Life is dear

Even here.

Blue above,

You to love,

Purely, purely, purely.

 There's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell, And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well; The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink, Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink.

There's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell,

And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well;

The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink,

Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink.

 This is the song of the Yellow-throat, Fluttering gaily beside you; Hear how each voluble note Offers to guide you: Which way, sir? I say, sir, Let me teach you, I beseech you! Are you wishing Jolly fishing? This way, sir! I'll teach you.

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