These little Songs,
Found here and there,
Floating in air By forest and lea,
Or hill-side heather,
In houses and throngs,
Or down by the sea - Have come together,
How,
I can't tell:
But I know full well No witty goose-wing On an inkstand begot 'em;
Remember each place And moment of grace,
In summer or spring,
Winter or autumn By sun, moon, stars,
Or a coal in the bars,
In market or church,
Graveyard or dance,
When they came without search,
Were found as by chance.
A word, a line,
You may say are mine;
But the best in the songs,
Whatever it be,
To you, and to me,
And to no one belongs
