O wingless bird!
Thou canst not fly, nor sing in thy wakeless sleep
Thy wings perished by long disuse
And all the birds perch on a tree by the dale
Elatedly they tweet and flit in seasonless ecstasy,
And I watch thee in a sullen silence
Of breezeless mornings, and tears unshed.
O noiseless bird! Thou canst not sing anymore,
Yet thy song sings itself in my retentive memory
To thy melody I dance oblivious to all Pain,
And I go insane, for it becomes my empty heart.
Like a lightless star in the sunless blue sky,
Thou canst not shine, nor canst thou be anymore
Thy nest, thy songs, thy beams, thy whisperings,
And all the memories sit heavy on the soul
All suffused with a patch of light, and clouds
Enshrouded in the mystery of the blue yonder.
They all come upon me, in a moment they haunt me
And I long for thee, for thy tweet
I long for thy nonchalant yet reasonable lunacy.
O little bird of mid-May!
Hast thou even seen halcyon days?
Thou canst not hear the birds nor would thou be heard
Thou canst not bear this windless sphere,
Nor can the birds endure thy complete lightness.
O precious bird of mid-May!
Thou hast gone, in the beyond thou dwell
And here I stay in the shadows of thy absence,
I wonder, I wander, I ponder, I whimper with pain
But thou hast gone, in the beyond thou dwell
Farewell, little bird, farewell precious bird.