That Bird, it sings in the most remote gardens,
In ivy laden lowlands,
On trees untouched,
To dawn from night.
Its touching voice grows,
Its longest melody fleetingly enchants,
All who listen.
Just that sound for a while in the air
Just that sound is heard.
Stars enchanted as they listen.
That bird, it comes in spring only.
No-one knows, a mystery.
Spring ends, it disappears,
Till another spring comes.
Its life on a beautiful night,
Singing beautiful songs spent.
That bird, it sings in the most remote gardens.
In imagination it lives,
In imagination it dies.
Yahya Kemal Beyatlı (1884-1958). Gece Bestesi. Translated from the Turkish.