Merry brook!
Upon thy margin green, how dear the joy!
When I did loiter there, — a truant boy —
With line and hook.


Thou singest still,
That same light-hearted song, thou then didst sing
When life, to me, had not a jarring string
Nor painful ill!


Thy silent strand,
Was then profusely paved with yellow gold;
That gold is now but poor and worthless mould,
— But shining sand!


I wondered then
Why human life was always like the sea,
Vexed by the wrath, — that raves eternally!
— Of angry men.


It seemed to me,
'T were better if the course of human life,
Rolled like thy current, ever without strife —
— Most tranquilly!


Babbling stream!
Full many a pleasant thought of early days,
Is wedded unto thy bewildering maze,
— And cheerful gleam.


Favorite brook!
I love even now to pace thy grassy brink!
Upon the innocent sports of youth to think
— And on thee look.