Thoughts of Life, and Love, and Heaven, over which I fondly wept.
And beside the river’s dashing,
In the tumult of its plashing,
I have felt my pulses quickened, and my spirits bravely stirred;
Then below, where it runs slowly,
And the boughs bend over lowly,
My soul again was saddened, as by some enchanter’s word.
Upon every tree are builded—
By the garish sun ne’er gilded—
Nests of songsters, close secluded in the still and welcome shades;