I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the 
foam of the sea
Far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames 
would we be
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on 
the rim of the sky
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that 
may never die, a sadness that may never die.

A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the 
lily and rose
Ah, dream not of that, my beloved, the flame of the 
meteor that goes
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in 
the fall of the dew
For I would we were changed, my beloved, to white birds 
on the foam, I and you, to white birds on the foam, I 
and you.

Bend low, that I may crown you, flower of the branch 
silver fish my hands have taken from the running 
stream, 
morning star, trembling in the heavens like a white 
fawn on the border of a wood 
Bend that I may crown you, that I may crown you.

And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on 
the rim of the sky
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that 
may never die, a sadness that may never die.

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan 
shore
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near 
us no more
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the 
flames would we be
Were we only white birds, my beloved, white birds on 
the foam of the sea, white birds on the foam of the 
sea.