When April bends above meAnd finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secretA live heart died to keep.

    When April tells the thrushes,The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightlyTo all the winds that blow.

    Above his roof the swallows,In notes like far-blown rain, Will tell the little sparrowBeside his window-pane.

    O sparrow, little sparrow,When I am fast asleep, Then tell my love the secretThat I have died to keep.