He who moves in the dew

He who moves in the dew is waiting

unter the willows, beside the sunset waters;

Idle is his canoe, quiet the paddles,

but his heart I know is leaping,

Hoping I come.

So shall I have the lodge at moonrise,

So shall I move silently thro' the darkness,

Following the signal of his flute call.

He who moves in the dew is waiting,

He watches thro' the drooping willow branches,

He listens for my step on the grasses,

Knowing I come.