What the winding river sees, flowing through the forest trees.
Thrice three hundered years till its death,
I saw too the rowan and the thistle,
And I see the life that gives us breath.
Wander does this river so,
Upon its hither way,
Through the grove and the meadow,
In melodious way.
So sofly do the amber leaves fall,
And the river among winter trees winds,
Through the wolrld, to seek its part,
To see what a river finds.