Fish of the flood, on the bankèd billow
     Thou layest thy head in dreams;
Sliding as slides thy shifting pillow,
     One with the streams
          Of the sea is thy spirit.

Gean-tree, thou spreadest thy foaming flourish
     Abroad in the sky so grey;
It not heeding if it thee nourish,
     Thou dost obey,
          Happy, its moving.

So, God, thy love it not needeth me,
Only thy life, that I blessèd be.