Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature By Charles Mackay |
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THE BROOK. |
 | Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature |  |
245
THE BROOK.
Oft by the margin of this brook,
When summer eves grew long,
I've roamed, and dreamed, and read the book
Of love and true love's wrong;
And pined, poor visionary boy!
That knew, nor thought of guile,
To tempt the hidden depths of joy
That dwelt in woman's smile.
The blithe birds sang, the sweet bells rang,
And fair the sunlight shone,
And the brook made music as it went
Merrily ever on.
When summer eves grew long,
I've roamed, and dreamed, and read the book
Of love and true love's wrong;
And pined, poor visionary boy!
That knew, nor thought of guile,
To tempt the hidden depths of joy
That dwelt in woman's smile.
The blithe birds sang, the sweet bells rang,
And fair the sunlight shone,
And the brook made music as it went
Merrily ever on.
I rushed into the maze of men,
And found the joy I sought,
A joy I would not taste again,
For misery it brought.
I only tasted to despair;
And here again, forlorn,
Beside the stream I doze and dream,
And sigh that I was born.
The blithe birds sing, the sweet bells ring,
The brooklet chafes the shore;
But the music and the joy are lost
Ever and evermore!
And found the joy I sought,
246
For misery it brought.
I only tasted to despair;
And here again, forlorn,
Beside the stream I doze and dream,
And sigh that I was born.
The blithe birds sing, the sweet bells ring,
The brooklet chafes the shore;
But the music and the joy are lost
Ever and evermore!
| Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature | |