To A Brook

A poem 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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