The rushes swayed beside a murmuring stream
Homer, Iliad XVIII, 576
Oh! the rustling of the slender reed!
I would I knew thy mournful song!
Whenever the wind doth pass thee by
And gently breathe upon thy stem,
Thou bendest, humbly bowing down,
Then risest up to humbly bow again
And sing, whilst bending, that sad song
That I so love, O slender reed!

Oh! The rustling of the slender reed!
How many a time have I sat down
Beside the silent water's edge
Alone and undisturbed by man,
And gazed at the rippling waves.
And touched thy tender stem
Whilst listening to that dear song
Thou used to sing, O rustling reed!

Oh! The rustling of the slender reed!
How many a man perceives thee not,
Nor listens to thy harmonious sounds.
He listens not and passes on
To where his heart enticeth him,
To where the sound of chinking gold allures;
But thy sweet sound he understandeth not,
Oh my beloved rustling reed!

And yet, thou slender rustling reed,
Thy voice is not to be despised!
God made the stream, God made thy stem,
God said, "Oh, come thou little breeze" -
And the breeze came and fluttered round
They stem, making it rise, then bend.
God listened, and they mournful song
Was pleasing to Him, rustling reed!

Ah no, thou slender rustling reed,
My soul despiseth not thy song:
My soul that from God Himself
At His command received the gift
To understand thy rustling song
Whenever thou dost rise or bend:
Oh no, oh no, thou slender reed,
My soul despiseth not thy song!

Oh! The rustling of the slender reed,
Let it resound in my sad song,
And lamenting come before Thy Throne,
O Thou Who gavest life to both!
Thou, Who lovest the mournful song
Of a tapering reed, reject Thou not
My sad complaint, for I, too, am
A poor, lamenting, sickly reed!