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A sparrow came and sat upon one of my window-boxes as I was at / breakfast this morning, chirping loudly for some reason or other as / though it were summer instead of one of those very early days of spring / which seem to have dropped by accident from the lap of a generous / Providence.
Possibly it was the bright yellow of the crocuses, now in bloom, which / attracted him. A day when his ancestors lived in trees instead of upon / sooty house-tops was no doubt dimly stirring in his semi-consciousness. / He almost persuaded me that his chirping was a song, so much lusty / energy did he throw into it. It was only when I came to listen / carefully that I realized there were but two notes to his compass. / Truly he made the most of them. Doubtless it was a lesson to me to make / the most of such shallow compass as is mine. If it were, I did not / learn of it. My mind had been made up for some time now and, as soon as / Moxon had cleared away, I sat down at my desk and wrote a letter: