The Blackbird

Once, on a morning of sweet recreation,

I heard a fair lady a-making her moan,
With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation,
Aye singing, “My Blackbird for ever is flown!
He's all my heart's treasure, my joy and my pleasure,
So justly, my love, my heart follows thee;
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather,
To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be.

‘I will go, a stranger to peril and danger,
My heart is so loyal in every degree;
For he's constant and kind, and courageous in mind:
Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be.
In Scotland he's loved and dearly approved,
In England a stranger he seemeth to be;
But his name I'll advance in Ireland or France.
Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be.

The birds of the forests are all met together,
The turtle is chosen to dwell with the dove,
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather,
Once in the springtime to seek out my love.
But since fickle Fortune, which still proves uncertain,
Hath caused this parting between him and me,
His right I'll proclaim, and who dares me blame?
Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be.”
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.