|
In the field at play, all day, last Summer, |
|
far and away I heard |
|
the sweet-sweet tweet-tweet of a new-comer, |
|
a strange new-comer. |
|
The dearest, clearest call of a bird, |
|
it lived down there, |
|
in the deep green hollows, |
|
that home where the fairies say: |
|
"The word of a bird is a thing to follow". |
|
So I was away, |
|
I was away |
|
a night and a day. |
|
Black and chill is the moon on the world; |
|
you shall grow up, but never grow old. |
|
Dark and chill is the sun on the world, |
|
I will always, always be told. |
|
Now listen: |
|
Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see, |
|
or answer when they spoke to me, |
|
because in the long-long, still-still |
|
twilight of every Spring |
|
you can sense the whole world whispering, |
|
humming and hammering at your ear |
|
everything there is to hear. |
|
So I went away, |
|
I was away |
|
a night and a day. |
|
Axte Incal, |
|
axtuce mun. |
