Blow high, blow low,
 O wind from the West; 
You come from the country
 I love the best.

O say have the lilies
 Yet lifted their heads
Above the lake-water
 That ripples and spreads?

Do the little sedges
 Still shake with delight,
And whisper together
 All through the night?

Have the mountains the purple
 I used to love,
And peace about them,
 Around and above?