The shepherd folds his white
Flocks by the Tyrrhene sea;
My wandering thoughts at night
I fold in my thought of thee.

To the maiden her shepherd's kiss
And the flower of the orange-tree;
Boy and girl have their bliss
And the nightingale sings for three.

Night-long he sings, night-long I hear,
And wakeful croons the sea;
Night-long in wakeful music, dear,
I fold my thought of thee.