Where the moonbeams love to loiter;
Watching the ripples come and go
And the willow trees their shadows throw
On the mystic, murm'ring water.
As I lingered there on the vine-clad bank,
Where the pale rays glint and quiver
Through the silvered leaves, a perfumed breeze
So softly swayed the willow trees,
And dappled the laughing river.
The waters murmured so low and sweet,