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The Brook.



I looked in the brook and saw a face
Heigh-ho. but a child was I!
There were rushes and willows in that place.
And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by;
And the brook it ran its own sweet way.
As a child doth run in heedless play,
And as it ran I heard it say:
"Hasten with me
To the roistering sea
That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!"


I look in the brook and see a face—
Heigh-ho, but the years go by!
The rushes are dead in the old-time place.
And the willows I knew when a child was I.
And the brook it seemeth to me to say.
As ever it stealeth on its way—
Solemnly now, and not in play:
"Oh, come with me
To the slumbrous sea
That is gray with the peace of the evening sky! "

Heigh-ho, but the years go by—
I would to God that a child were I!

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