I will come back to you and you to me;
When the poplar-trees blow white and the rooks fly home,
And the fishermen draw their nets out of the sea;
I will come back to you and you to me.
When across the flooded weirs the wild-fowl fly,
When the dead leaves fall from each remembered tree,
When over the withered grass the plovers cry,
I will come back to you and you to me.