A solitary willow stands
  At the damp edge of the shore,
With a quiet surging, the blue wave 
  Beats against the banks;
It toys with the willow’s trunk,
  It bedews its root.
In greeting, the willow inclines its green branches
  Toward the trifling wave,
And kisses the reflecting water,
  And sees there its own image,
And the wave yearningly swells
  Toward the friendly greeting.

And particularly when there is a soughing in the leaves,
  So quiet and melancholy,
The wave hearkens in devout empathy
  To the laments of its friend;
And when the babbling wave
  Moves against the shore,
The willow tree leans its listening leaves
  Close upon the water,
And listens to the chatter of the wave,
  And what it secretly entrusts to the tree --
Listens devoutly, as if it were
  The words of a tender bride.