Even among the tits and wrens And birds of scanty inches, Small fowl of shaded forest glens, The lesser warblers and their hens And little chats and finches I hold an unassuming place, In lowly regions winging; So, few remark my nimble grace And fewer praise my singing. Where sunshafts pierce the denser scrub, And tangled shadows blacken Green sward, I flit from shrub to shrub To seek the appetizing grub, And dance amid the bracken; Singing my little song the while For those who care to listen, While high above the soft skies smile And gum-leaves glint and glisten. No noisy chorister am I Bedecked in gaudy vesture; On no wide venturings I fly ’Mid tree-tops towering to the sky. Less lordly is my gesture. I lodge and labour with the meek In secret ways and scented, And nimbly play at hide-and-seek By ferny dale and friendly creek, Unfamed, but well contented.