Gustaf Rosenhane (1619–1684)

Translated by Edmund Gosse

AND then I sat me down, and gave the rein

To my wild thoughts, till many a song that rang

From boughs around where hidden warblers sang

Recalled me from myself; then “Oh! in vain,”

I said, “do these outpour the tender strain?

Can these sweet birds that with such airs harangue

Their feathered loves, like me, feel sorrow’s pang?

Ah! would that I, like them, had pinions twain!

Straight would I fly to her whom I love best,

Nor vainly warbling in the woodland sing,

But chirp my prayer, and preen my plumèd crest,

And to this spot once more her beauty bring,

And flutter round her flight with supple wing,

And lead her to my secret leafy nest.”