A freed bird sings above the tree,It wakes my soul ere dawn would be;
It sings a song that drives awayAll pain — its echo haunts the grey;
It shuns all chains, rejects all tedium,It wakes desire to rouse hope's medium;
There it hovers near the clouds on high,As though the clouds reproach the sky;
There it soars above all bond and chain,Beloved of meadows, existence's refrain;
Whilst I seek refuge in the leaves' embrace,Content with tender wing's warm grace;
Would I knew, O poetry, who ownsThe world of countryside and rural zones;
How did it grant one lonely bird the rightTo sing forever with melodious flight,
Yet hide from us existence's delight,And veil from us eternity's bright light?
It stirs with spirit of the wing's releaseThe phantom of the loved one ere dawn's peace;
It seems a bird that leans perpetuallyUpon my cheek with constancy;
Yesterday it departed far away,My bliss departed yonder, cold and grey;
Whilst thou dost roam the regions of the sky,Embracing light's phantom on high;
Thou livest in the gentle breeze's world,Seeking a spring where pure streams are unfurled;
Thou yearnest for the clouds in winter's hold,And in the air, fair company of old;
Would I were like a bird set free,Living in dear companion's glee;
My comrade answered my Lord's appeal,And emptiness embraced my path's ordeal;
My solace — I behold this bird released,And hear from it the lover's song increased.
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