At night when the lake is a mirror,
And the moon rides the waves to the shore,
A single soul sets his voice singing,
Content to be slightly forlorn.
A song rises over the lilies, (Waa-ooh waa-ooh)
Sweeps high to clear over the reeds,
And over the bulrushes' swaying,
To pluck at a pair of heartstrings.
Two voices, now they are singing,
Then ten, as the melody soars,
Round the shimmering pond all are joining in song,
As it carries their reverie on.
Over the treetops and mountains,
Over the blackened ravines,
Then softly it falls by a house near a stream,
And over the garden wall... to thee