HOW gently this evening the ripples break
On the pebbles beneath the trees,
With a music as low as the full leaves make,
When they stir in some soft sea-breeze,
And as day-light dies, if I rest my boat
'Neath this bough where the blossoms fall,
I shall hear the curlew's last good-night note,
As he answers the sea-gull's call.
And there where the wheat lies in golden sheaves
In the fields across the river,
And wood-bine creeps over porches and eaves,
And fuchsia and myrtle quiver,
Lives my love, my love; tis her casement see,
Where the light glimmers to and fro,
If she were my love she would come to me
This evening, I long for her so.
I long for her so that to linger near
Her home as I do sometimes,
And send her blessings across from here,
When they ring the Westleigh chimes,
Makes my summer glad, so I stay my boat
'Neath this bough where the blossoms fall,
While the curlew flies with his good-night note,
To the sea where the white gulls call.