The Brook

Near a great water's waste A brook mid rock and spar Came bubbling up in haste, As though to travel far.

It sang: "What joy to rise! 'T was dismal under ground. I mirror now the skies. My banks with green abound.

"Forget-me-nots--how fair! Beseech me from the grass; Wings frolic in the air, And graze me as they pass.

"I yet shall be--who knows?-- A river winding down, And greeting as it flows Valley and cliff and town.

"I'll broider with my spray Stone bridge and granite quay, And bear great ships away Unto the long wide sea."

So planned it, babbling by, As water boiling fast Within a basin high, To top its brim at last.

Cradle by tomb is crossed. Giants are early dead. Scarce born, the brook was lost Within a lake's deep bed.