Oh, give to me a winding stream, it must not be too wide,
where waving leaves from maple trees do meet from either side.
The water must be deep enough to float a small canoe,
with no one else but you.
Do not disturb my waking dream,
the splendor of that winding stream.
Flower in my canoe, her eyes they look me through,
a maiden fair with golden hair is very much like you.
The sparkling trout beneath the bank does leave his hiding place,
kingfisher from the bough above, so eager to give to chase.
The spreading branches over head, the sunlight peeping through,
when looking, dear, at you.
Do not disturb my waking dream,
the splendor of that winding stream.
Flower in my canoe, her eyes they look me through,
a maiden fair with golden hair is very much like you.