And when they hear the nightingale
And see the blossomed hawthorn tree,
What time the orchard pink grows pale—
The river maidens beckon me.
Through all the city's smoke appear
White arms and golden hair a-gleam,
And through the noise of life I hear
"Come back—to the enchanted stream.
"Come back to water, wood and weir!
See what the summer has to show!