The Crow
You crow jabbing about yonder,
bold noisy one with beak like a horn
and two stout legs, you are sleepless,
4 black bird, your habit is good for me
whilst you are up on high
on the branch of a leafy tree.
When I have had a bed of leaves,
8 ready embrace, you see the dawn clearly,
the Jealous One, two angry complaints,
will not catch me with my tender sweetheart,
you sturdy bundle flying powerfully,
12 whilst you my fine crow
announce the coming of day,
patrolling contentedly in the shade of the birch trees.
Regret in the temple of the grove, you sang to me
16 before the day for fear of complaint from [her] house,
and urged me to flee from the golden girl
as fast as my legs would carry me.
May the blessing of Mary preserve you,
20 and your court, you are neat in your plumage,
from battle, from harshness of frost,
from the misfortune of a cockshoot, from clinging bird-lime,
from the snare of a shining line
24 about your lovely leg evermore,
from the consequences of cruel plotting,
from the head of a brutal four-edged bolt,
from the poison of an overclouded sky,
28 from pounding of pain, from everything.
When you scavenge you don't seek
either meat or intestines (don't hide your vanity).
You prefer by your natural instinct
32 at work throughout the day
to pick fiercely at the wheat
before it sprouts in yonder field.