Wandering From The Parent Bough, Little, Trembling Leaf, Whither Goest Thou? "From The Beech, Where I Was Born, By The North Wind Was I Torn. Him I Follow In His Flight, Over Mountain, Over Vale, From The Forest To The Plain, Up The Hill, And Down Again. With Him Ever On The Way: More Than That, I Cannot Say. Where I Go, Must All Things Go, Gentle, Simple, High And Low: Leaves Of Laurel, Leaves Of Rose; Whither, Heaven Only Knows!"