Classic Poem

A little bird high on the branches swinging,
High up and happy in the sun above,
Is looking down upon Catalinota,
Catalinota who lies dead of love.

A gallant youth far off upon the mountains
Hears the chimes ring and wonders: " Can it be
That the bells toll for my Catalinota,
Catalinota, dead for love of me? "

When he is standing high up on the hill-top,
Down there below he sees the torches' light:
" If that should be the torches in procession,
A-carrying her to burial to-night!

" O bearers, bearers, carrying my beauty,
Halt for a little and set down the bier;
Set it down softly there upon the violets,
And for the last time let me kiss my dear.

" Speak, oh, speak to me, dear little dead mouth!
Speak to me, speak, dear little mouth of gold!
Say to me just one little word of loving,
Give me one little love-kiss like the old. "

" How can I ever, how can I speak to you?
How can I give you a kiss of love and death?
My little mouth smells of the earth in dying,
That when I lived was like the roses' breath.

" The little ring that long ago you gave me,
I wear it still upon my finger, see!
Take it away and give it to another;
And both of you say prayers to God for me. "