Thy voice is on the rolling air;
      I hear thee where the waters run;
      Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then? I cannot guess;
      But tho' I seem in star and flower
      To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:

My love involves the love before;
      My love is vaster passion now;
      Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
      I have thee still, and I rejoice;
      I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.