When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep.
When April tells the thrushes, The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightly To all the winds that blow.
Above his roof the swallows, In notes like far-blown rain, Will tell the little sparrow Beside his window-pane.
O sparrow, little sparrow, When I am fast asleep, Then tell my love the secret That I have died to keep.
