Go where the water glideth gently ever,

Glideth through meadows that the greenest be; Go, listen to your own beloved river,

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!

THINK OF ME.

And when the sky is silver-pale at even,
And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree,
Go 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!

THIS is the place. Stand still, my steed;
Let me review the scene,

And summon from the shadowy Past
The forms that once have been.

The Past and Present here unite
Beneath Time's flowing tide,
Like footprints hidden by a brook,
But seen on either side.