A blackbird singing 
On a moss-upholstered stone, 
Bluebells swinging, 
Shadows wildly blown, 
A song in the wood, 
A ship on the sea. 
The song was for you 
and the ship was for me. 

A blackbird singing 
I hear in my troubled mind, 
Bluebells swinging, 
I see in a distant wind. 
But sorrow and silence, 
Are the wood's threnody, 
The silence for you 
and the sorrow for me.