A young thrush full of ferver Full of that singing zeal So finely imitated the goldfinch As if he were of the same breed Those who heard him singing spoke well of him When the woods rang with his song But himself he deemed it little he wanted greater fame He envied the song of the nightingale
Just wait and I'll show That also my tongue If it gets used to the quaver Can strike up the same song
Well, he was right in a way His song was rather new Now he bleated like an old goat Now was it like a kitten's miaow All this as if to scare away the audience But this song thrush deemed it beautiful he was proud of himself It occured to him what he once had thought
Just wait and I'll show That also my tongue If it gets used to the quaver Can strike up the same song
It's better if you sing in your own way Than if you mess up others' strains It's better if you sing in your own way But this song thrush deemed it little he wanted greater fame He envied the song of the nightingale
Just wait and I'll show That also my tongue If it gets used to the quaver Can strike up the same song