From Andersen's 'Collected Poems (1833)

‘I dreamt I was but a little bird’

I dreamt I was but a little bird,

Over land and wave was gliding,

My heart’s emotions and all I saw

I had not a way of hiding.

I sang all thoughts deep-lodged in my breast,

Those sad and joyous sensations,

I soared and dived o’er the foaming sea

And many unknown locations.

One morning high on a branch I sat,

And chirruped songs ten a penny

The flowers in the grass stood all around

So lovely they were, so many.

But one with a scent and tint so rare

Excelled all others begotten,

On her I did gaze, for her did sing

And foreign climes were forgotten.

I there decided to build a nest,

Be even my wings forsaking,

I wanted to chirrup my finest song,

Till my heart at last were breaking !

Her head so chaste in the wind she bowed,

I touched the flower’s head full-flushing,

The petal’s scent I then understood,

In the morning sun bright-blushing.

And downwards the flower did bend her head,

I recall it all so closely!

My love so clearly it seemed I read

In her trusting eye though mostly.

A huntsman appeared, both bold and young,

With his gun slung o’er his shoulder,

He placed the flower in his buttonhole

Where she then did brightly smoulder.

A dewdrop fell from her petals fine,

Though maybe a tear concealing,

I sang then and thought, it’s me he’ll shoot!

For death I found so appealing.

The flower’s undiminished scent’s a home,

And never she will regret it!

From town to town I fly on and on,

If only I could forget it!

I grieve – though I sing more than before,

while I o’er meadow I’m winging,

A hunter will surely come along

And will shoot me while I’m singing!