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.
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