To a Caty-Did

In a branch of willow hid

Sings the evening Caty-did:

From the lofty-locust bough

Feeding on a drop of dew,

In her suit of green arrayed

Hear her singing in the shade—

Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!

While upon a leaf you tread,

Or repose your little head

On your sheet of shadows laid,

All the day you nothing said:

Half the night your cheery tongue

Revelled out its little song,—

Nothing else but Caty-did.

From your lodging on the leaf

Did you utter joy or grief?

Did you only mean to say,

I have had my summer’s day,

And am passing, soon, away

To the grave of Caty-did:

Poor, unhappy Caty-did!

But you would have uttered more

Had you known of nature’s power;

From the world when you retreat,

And a leaf’s your winding sheet,

Long before your spirit fled,

Who can tell but nature said,—

Live again, my Caty-did!

Live, and chatter Caty-did.

Tell me, what did Caty do?

Did she mean to trouble you?

Why was Caty not forbid

To trouble little Caty-did?

Wrong, indeed, at you to fling,

Hurting no one while you sing,—

Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!