The Death of the Swan





In the old country, a vocalist of miraculous voice

Sang a sad song of people's choice



Sang he the song of the swan's death

And people listened holding their breath



Flowed tears down their cheeks

People of plains and of mountain peaks



Sang he, "Heard it I that when it is time for the swan to pass away

She would ride a wave to a spot far away



"So her mood she would atone

And let her sole fly alone.



"Heard it I that when it is time

She would float sitting on the wave

As there is no need for the bells to chime

And that water for her is the chosen grave.



Miraculous was her birth

Miraculous must be her death



As one night she hatched near the bank

So she would, on another, die in the river's flank



Heard it I that when it is time for the beautiful swan to pass away

She would ride a wave to a spot far away



To die alone

And to let her spirit be flown



Up high in clouds as fine

As her white feathers it would shine



The white clouds would float in heaven

For her pretty soul it is a given



On the night of her death

Riding on a wave of beautiful breadth



She would float away

To a spot far away



I have heard it said

It is a story soft and sad

From water she came

To water she goes to finish the game



O my reader,

Shed no tear

Life and death are here

To bear