To a Caty-Did

Why continue to complain?

Caty tells me she again

Will not give you plague or pain;

Caty says you may be hid,

Caty will not go to bed

While you sing us Caty-did,—

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

But, while singing, you forgot

To tell us what did Caty not:

Caty did not think of cold,

Flocks retiring to the fold,

Winter with his wrinkles old;

Winter, that yourself foretold

When you gave us Caty-did.

Stay serenely on your nest;

Caty now will do her best,

All she can, to make you blest;

But you want no human aid,—

Nature, when she formed you, said,

“Independent you are made,

My dear little Caty-did:

Soon yourself must disappear

With the verdure of the year,”

And to go, we know not where,

With your song of Caty-did.