Down from yon distant mountain height
  The brooklet flows through the village street;
A boy comes forth to wash his hands,
Washing, yes washing, there he stands,
  In the water cool and sweet.

Brook, from what mountain dost thou come,
  O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I come from yon mountain high and cold,
Where lieth the new snow on the old,
  And melts in the summer heat.

Brook, to what river dost thou go?
  O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the river there below
Where in bunches the violets grow,
  And sun and shadow meet.

Brook, to what garden dost thou go?
  O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the garden in the vale
Where all night long the nightingale
  Her love-song doth repeat.

Brook, to what fountain dost thou go?
  O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the fountain at whose brink
The maid that loves thee comes to drink,
And whenever she looks therein,
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin,
  And my joy is then complete.