Classic Poem

Over my gate a pigeon's wings!
Over my gate they flew —
But my father gave me not to him,
The one I loved so true.

To Voyvoda, a Captain bold,
My father married me:
He carried me to distant lands
Where none of my own kin be.

O I will pluck the Malva flower
And throw it on the stream —
Now float thou far, thou Malva flower,
To her of whom I dream!

The Malva blossom floated on
And circling on was swept. . . .
Drawing the water from the stream
My mother saw — and wept.

" Oi! Daughter mine! Fear's on my heart;
Ill liest thou on thy bed?
For lo! thy lovely Malva flower
Is withered all and dead. "

Not one day was I lying sick,
Not one day, not one hour —
Unfaithful was the man I wed,
And I am in his power.