When drifting about in my bass-wood canoe!
I crush the white lilies, 'tis almost "too too;"
I dream to the song of the dragon-flies' flight—
O, Summer is sweet, and its sky is so blue!
Somewhere on the Thames, I can't give you a clue,
Be able to find me, you possibly might,
When drifting about in my bass-wood canoe!
And if you are pleasant, and I'm in the cue,
Through azurine smoke you may hear me recite—
O, Summer is sweet, and its sky is so blue,