Poems (Linn)/The Dried Brook
THE DRIED BROOK.
SEE where this little brook has all run dry! Here the bright pebbles that were rose and greenAnd blue, beneath its flowing, turned to gray, Its moss-grown boulders nowhere to be seen.
The flowers that once were glad to see their face Within its tranquil places are no more.Where are the little flashing, watery lives That made their merry home along its shore?
The birds here came to bathe their tired wings, And cool their thirsty throats; to sing, and chaseEach other in the cool tranquillity, Where heat and silence now have dwelling-place.
Its song is hushed; its busy, babbling voice Leads wandering feet no more to seek its brink;Those only who have loved it come again To dream the dreams that past and present link.
My heart is like this little brook run dry. Shall old-time beauty find its dear retreat?O brook! O heart! shall we yet hasten on Towards the open sea with joyous feet?