A Bird in Bishopswood
Translated by Eric Weiskott
In springtime, chief of all seasons,
in May when new joys rise and flourish,
the sun is lord and messenger at once and sends down to us
to rouse our bodies and be merry:
humankind to rejoice in all things,
beasts to hasten out to the fields,
birds to busy themselves with songs in the thickets,
flowers to thrive and dispense their fragrance,
grass to grow green and gladden the hearts of men.
Each creature received the season’s blessing
and regained a lust for life in the new spring.
I myself had lingered in my Lenten season
grieving my life, finding no solace.
So I heaved up my heart and then my head
and walked out into the woods like other people did,
though lacking the least plaything that solitude requires.
And as I ambled and strayed there, inwardly weary,
I stopped beside a thicket at the Bishop’s Wood
to watch the pretty birds play in pairs, each with each.
As I sat at my ease and took in the scene,
a bird stopped on a bough quite near to me,
the most beautiful lark that I had ever seen.
Her shapely features suited her so well
that she could have no small flaw in any limb.
Grave in her aspect, she said little,
didn’t sing or chatter but minded herself.
She didn’t dart off or scare like other birds did
but stood there lost in thought as if in a daze.
By her expression, she seemed to me to be saying
that she wanted for a mate to cheer her up.
Just then I was afraid on her behalf, in case I should startle her
if I moved toward the branch where she sat,
and I anxiously waited for the moment when she would flutter away
—for she had wings at her command and lacked not even one feather
whereas I was sluggish with my limbs and hadn’t brought my birdlime,
nor was I supplied with charms or a conjuration for a bird.
And so I left this lark, but it stayed put
and never noticed me at all, because I had kept quiet.
I always wished I could have possessed her,
kept her in my cage until it was wintertime
and she’d grow weary of cold weather and wait for spring.
Notes:
Translation published by the Poetry Foundation in conjunction with Eric Weiskott’s poem guide. Read the original poem in Middle English and the translator’s notes here.