Would thou wert human, little bird,To grasp what in my soul is stirred;
Whene'er I meet thee face to face,I feel a captive child in place;
Fancy has bound its dear one's chainAnd thou art comrade, friend, again;
The nightingale dances in the gladeWhilst thou remainest captive made;
Water flows through the garden fairIts murmur whispering everywhere;
O bird, thou art my companyIn solitude — my soul with thee;
Thou cheered me as though I mightEnjoy thy nearness in delight;
Art thou the inspiration sentThat bears me o'er the blooms' ascent?
I breathe the fragrance of my thoughtTo be the world's perfume, self-wrought;
I see the world as like the sea,With people hard as rocks that be;
Some spend their lives in rigid stand,Unmoving there upon the sand;
Some earthquakes hide beneath the ground,Like prisoners through ages bound;
Whilst I and my bird soar on highEarth's soil and heaven's seas thereby.
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