Amid the wood

Amid the wood a streamlet flows,

Who knows, who knows,

Whither its waves are wending,

Or where its course is ending?

There sits a bird upon the tree

She sits, she sits

with fainting efforts

staying upon the branch decaying.

For she is weary from her flight,

who knows, who knows,

In what far off dominions,

She wav'd her joyous pinions?

On to the main the stream is borne,

And seaward came the bird this morn,

And sinking without motion,

Is borne again to Ocean.