My Little Girlie

Little girlie tell to me
What your wistful blue eyes see?
Why you like to stand so high,
Looking at the far off sky.

Does a tiny Fairy flit
In the pretty blue of it?
Or is it that you hope so soon
To see the rising yellow Moon?

Or is it—as I think I've heard—
You're looking for a little Bird
To come and sit upon a spray,
And sing the summer night away?