Bird of my lady's bower,
        Sing her a song;
Tell her that every hour,
        All the day long,
Thoughts of her come to me,
        Filling my brain
With the warm ecstasy
        Of love's refrain.

Little bird! happy bird!
        Being so near,
Where e'en her slightest word
        Thou mayest hear,
Seeing her glancing eyes,
        Sheen of her hair,
Thou art in paradise,—
        Would I were there.

I am so far away,
        Thou art so near;
Plead with her, birdling gay,
        Plead with my dear.
Rich be thy recompense,
        Fine be thy fee,
If through thine eloquence
        She hearken me.