“O little sobbing Pigeon,
Why do you moan and moan?
Coo-a, O coo-a, coo-a!
Like some old crying crone.

O breast of soft, soft silver,
O plumes of summer blue,
Lo, winter, summer, autumn
All gave their best to you.

But spring, Ah, spring forgot you.
She fled by you unseen,
With blue, and bronze, and silver,
Do you regret the green?

“Not for the spring I'm weeping:
Sweet are the berries then,
Ah, sweet the shining miro!
My fear is all for men.

And worse than men, the quail-hawk,
That bird that keeps no law.
I fear its rushing pinion,
I fear its crushing claw.”
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page 33

Ah, little sobbing Pigeon,
Sob low, low, low!
God cannot rest in Heaven,
When you are crying so.

O breast of soft, soft silver,
O plumes of summer blue,
O leaf-burnt bird of autumn,
He comes to comfort you.