EN
O'er the homeland, birds fly past,
vanished, though you hold them fast.
Before the count of five is done,
to the ends of earth they’ve run.
Forget thy flight across the sky,
embrace the land that greets thine eye.
Cherish the flock in memory,
grieve not, just stay a while with me. —
Through hollow way and forest lane,
I walked in mist and morning rain.
Beneath the moss, a shadow’s trace,
A snow-white feather I embrace.
My heart with joy was briefly blessed,
Yet I have lost my winged guest.
A song remains, to rise and bloom,
Of slate and resin’s sweet perfume.
