O white, white, light moon, that sailest in the sky,
Look down upon the whirling world, for thou art up so high,
And tell me where my Donald is who sailed across the sea,
And make a path of silver light to lead him back to me.
O white, white, bright moon, thy cheek is coldly fair;
A little cloud beside thee seems thy wildly floating hair;
And if thou wouldst not have me wan, and pale, and cold like thee,
Go, make a mighty tide to draw my Donald back to me.
O light, white, bright moon, that dost so fondly shine,
There is not a lily in the world but hides its face from thine: