O Nightingale, Delightful Bird

O nightingale, delightful bird,
Beneath my window do not sing,
But fly off to my mother's home
And to my mother tidings bring

From me, her son, and calm her heart,
The joy of life to her give back.
Tell her about the way I live,
Relieve her of her anguish black.

A broad-crowned lime-tree swaying there
Beneath the wind groans plaintively.
My mother there with silver hair

Sighs heavily, awaiting me;
Tell her, she should forget despair,
For soon back home her son will be.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg
(Contributed by daniel on Wednesday, April 6th, 2011)
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