Maybe

Heigh-ho! The same old road it is,
And weary dull am I,
With the same old road and the same old song
I hum and know not why.

But over yon, the city smoke
Goes after one gray dove,
With a flock of gold and silver wings
Along the sun, above.

And of the miry pools below,
The sparrows make the best;
And windows all, with dazzled eyes,
They stare into the west.

And I, I hum the same old song
Though no one could say why.
Maybe so, my singing knows
Even more than I.