Tell me, thou mild and melancholy bird,
Whence learnedst thou that meditative voice?
For all the forest--passages rejoice,
And not a note of sorrow now is heard:
I would know more: how is it I preferred
To leave the station of my morning choice,
Where, with her sudden startle of shrill noise,
The budding thorn--bush brake the blackbird stirred?
Sweet mourner, who, in time of fullest glee,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem