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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Whither? (From The German Of Müller)
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I heard a brooklet gushing 
 From its rocky fountain near, 
Down into the valley rushing, 
 So fresh and wondrous clear. 

I know not what came o`er me, 
 Nor who the counsel gave; 
But I must hasten downward, 
 All with my pilgrim-stave; 

Downward, and ever farther, 
   And ever the brook beside; 
And ever fresher murmured, 
 And ever clearer, the tide. 

Is this the way I was going? 
 Whither, O brooklet, say I 
Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, 
 Murmured my senses away. 

What do I say of a murmur? 
 That can no murmur be; 
`Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing 
 Their roundelays under me. 

Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, 
  And wander merrily near; 
The wheels of a mill are going 
 In every brooklet clear.
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