To a Brook
Sweet brook! I’ve met thee many a summer’s day,
And ventured fearless in thy shallow flood,
And rambled oft thy sweet unwearied way,
’Neath willows cool that on thy margin stood,
With crowds of partners in my artless play—
Grasshopper, beetle, bee, and butterfly—
That frisked about as though in merry mood
To see their old companion sporting by.
Sweet brook! life’s glories then were mine and thine;
Shade clothed thy spring that now doth naked lie;
On thy white glistening sand the sweet woodbine
Darkened and dipt its flowers. I mark, and sigh,
And muse o’er troubles since we met the last,
Like two fond friends whose happiness is past.