Sophia V. Gilbert Lee
The Brook
RIPPLE, ripple, ripple,
Goes the little brook,
Ripple, ripple, ripple,
Backward casts no look;
On through vale and woodland,
And flowery meadows green,
Staying not its progress
To see or to be seen.
Ripple, ripple, ripple,
Bubbling on its way,
Ripple, ripple, ripple—
Hark! I hear it say:
O foolish man, why dwellest thou
On themes of long ago?
Pass by the old, take up the new,
Time’s fleeting—let me go!