And sought her breast and nestled there.
Once, fluttering round from place to place,
He gaily chirped to her alone;
But now that gloomy path must trace
Whence Fate permits none to return.
Accursèd shades o’er hell that lower,
Oh, be my curses on you heard!
Ye, that all pretty things devour,
Have torn from me my pretty bird.
Oh, evil deed! Oh, sparrow dead!