I know a bird on a branch, who is—as beryl—so bright,
As sapphire on silver, seemly on sight,
As gentlest jasper that gleams with light,
As garnet on gold, and ruby well wrought,
As onyx they are, one held on high,
As dearest diamond when dressed in daylight.
They are coral, coveted by queen and knight,
As emerald at dawn, this fledgling has fight.
This person has more power than pearl, perfect—
Their shining shape I select as stone to set.

They are rosy as roses, that are red on their stalks,
And with a lily’s bright petals, so alluring they are ...
They pass primrose, and periwinkle in promise,
Likewise, parsley, and wild celery, and anise.
Cunning as columbine, their kind is,
Willing under wool. And, in gray, under furs,
They blossom in color, brightest under the darkest hairs,
Like celandine and sage, as you yourself see:
Sight of that seemly one brings bliss.
They are heliotrope, rooted for release.

They are parrot pined—they beat my badness.
To this true turtle dove, towering, I tell my tale:
You are a thrush thrust through, who sings inside,
The wild lark, and hawk, and the woodpecker;
You are falcon in forest, hidden deep between hills,
Of all mortals, you murmurate most,
And wariest you are, from Wye to the Wirral.
Your name is the note of the nightingale,
In a note is your name. Can you guess it not?
Whosoever reads it rightly, whisper it to John.

Translated from the Middle English

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