To A Brook
By John Clare
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.
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"Sweet brook! I've met thee many a summer's day,..."
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