my face to wrinkle and darken with grief, and the ember of life began to die down in my eyes; and now I lie bedridden, unable to stir, my head cast back upon the pillow; and I sank into fever and stupor, then woke to your sweet, tender voice, as you flitted from cloud to cloud, calling at every hut but my wretched hut!...

"Come, if you will, blackbird, or do not come — yet, for all that, you remain dear to me, the dearest of all blackbirds and birds. Come, if you will, blackbird, or do not come... It is enough for me that you make me remember and make me forget, that you gladden me and grieve me... enough for me that you are circling now above our farm, or that you have come out of the air of our village, or that you are a bird of our country's birds... enough for me that you warble me your sweet song, the one I used to listen for in the field, calling out to you and almost flying to you for lightness... enough for me that you... Ah, blackbird... gently... do not go far off... do not go far off and leave me

alone here... I still have need of you... Will you not wait for me a moment, while I clean off the mud that clings to my dress, and what has soiled my hands and dirtied my feet? Wait for me... or else tell Shawqi, if you catch sight of him in the quarter... tell him to hurry and come to me at once... tell him that I fell by the river... and that I am alone in the field... and that the world is at day's end and night's beginning... tell him that I am afraid of my people — afraid of them if I return... and that I will not go home without him... tell him... that I am his, and that I... Ah, blackbird... it is all over now... So stretch out your wings to me, and take me, blackbird, take me with you..."

– 3 –

And in that moment, the two eyes ceased their melting, and the heart stopped its beating; and the old peasant and the old peasant woman, returning from the valley, saw a blackbird peer in at the little window, and hover over the hut, and then wing away toward the far-off, setting light.