Go where the water glideth gently ever,
Glideth through meadows that the greenest be;
Go, listen to our own beloved river,
And think of me.

Wander in forests, where the small flower layeth
Its fairy gem beneath the giant tree;
List to the dim brook, pining as it playeth,
And think of me.

And when the sky is silver-pale at even,
And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree,
Walk out beneath the solitary heaven,
And think of me.

And when the moon riseth as she were dreaming,
And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea,
Go, silent as a star, beneath her beaming,
And think of me.