There sits so little a birdie
Alone on the ocean-strand.
Far off, now the sun is rising,
In gold, in the morning land.
There beckons, among the roses,
A portal of rubies and gold.
The heart of the bird is swelling
With love and longing untold.
He flies to the aureole brightness,
The beckoning coast to gain,
He flutters his wings, so weary,
He warbles with might and main.
Still further and further he flutters
Not looking behind him, he flees;
Where'er he turns his gazes,
But frigid water he sees.
He flies till his wings are broken,
He sinks in the billowing wave —
And even is smiling in roses,
The star, in gold, on his grave.