Whither? by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Read

By Wilhelm Muller

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; / 'T is 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.