O Sparrow

Vladyslav Nazarchuk

This poem can also be sung as a song: click here for its melody.

Once, by a river,
In a garden so green,
I walked down the pathways
In morning’s soft sheen.
Then, above me, I noticed
A sparrow’s small head.
So I stopped for a second,
And to him I said:

O sparrow, O sparrow,
Your feathers so fine!
See, I need the aid
Of your mistress divine.
But her temples are empty,
And her priests are long dead;
Yet, maybe, just maybe,
You can help in her stead.

You see, my dear sparrow,
I wasn’t alone—
Just a few hours fore,
While the red moon still shone,
I walked with a lady
Among trees of yew…
But where is she now?
I wish that I knew.

But sparrow, blithe sparrow,
How sweet is your song!
Keep weaving your tunes,
And I’m sure, before long,
My lady will hear,
And return, bright like fire:
Like Eurydice, saved
By great Orpheus’ lyre.

Come, sparrow, don’t perch there
All puffed-up and proud:
Along with me fly
Till my sweetheart is found!
I’m sure that she sits there
Just past yonder tree:
With your eyes and wings,
Her you’ll certainly see!

O sparrow, O sparrow,
Please clamp shut your beak!
The sighs of my maiden
Are all that I seek.
Or have you forgotten
My labors for you?
The least you can do now
Is help me out, too.

I see now, my sparrow,
That I’ve been deceived:
That you’d deem to aid me
I falsely believed.
You sit there, and naught
Of our earthly cares know,
While we, mortals, suffer
Alone down below!

O sparrow, cruel sparrow,
Divider of souls!
You merciless warden
Of my dreary halls!
I asked you so nicely,
But you’ll not agree;
So now, from my sword
I advise you to flee!

O sparrow, you sparrow,
Be cursed all your kind!
Begone all of you
From my sight and my mind!
Beloved you were,
But, as we both shall see,
You feathery fiend,
You’ll be nothing to me!

O sparrow, dear sparrow,
Cruel sparrow, blithe sparrow! I want to forget you,
But you’re like my shadow!
O sparrow O sparrow
O sparrow, await!
Don’t leave me alone here
Because of my hate.

O sparrow, O sparrow,
Abandoned’st thou me,
And no one is left now
To hear out my plea.
The trees—they are empty;
The garden is dead.
Naught’s left to be finished
Nor left to be said…

O Fortune, O Fortune,
Why art thou my foe?
What sin I’ve committed
To earn such a blow?
The justice of this world
Has me all but vexed:
Such sorrow in this life,
And what of the next?