MY bird who may not lift his wing,
Nor stir in his cold nest,
Who never more may dare to sing,
Who sits with frozen breast,
My bird who in the wood alone
Is turned to stone.
How shall he find the seas of light
That flood the leafy ways,
Or watch the shadow's trembling flight
That neither goes nor stays,
How seek his dreaming mate who keeps
The pearly deeps.
How shall he learn the liquid notes
That break the passionate air,
Or hear the melody that floats
From love sung unaware,
My bird who may not raise his head--
Who now is dead.