Though
the evening comes with slow steps and has signalled for all songs to
cease;
Though
your companions have gone to their rest and you are tired;
Though
fear broods in the dark and the face of the sky is veiled;
Yet,
bird, O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.
That
is not the gloom of the leaves of the forest, that is the sea swelling
like a dark black snake.
That
is not the dance of the flowering jasmine, that is flashing foam.
Ah,
where is the sunny green shore, where is your nest?
Bird,
O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.
The
lone night lies along your path, the dawn sleeps behind the shadowy
hills.
The
stars hold their breath counting the hours, the feeble moon swims the
deep night.
Bird,
O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.
There
is no hope, no fear for you.
There
is no word, no whisper, no cry.
There
is no home, no bed of rest.
There
is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky.
Bird,
O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.