Soliloquy to a Brook
What lands have by these waters rushed?
What nestlings cries have in them drowned?
Was it of nightengale or thrush
Or lark's mourning I mistook for song...
What distant flood caused life in you,
And who in that storm perished in its haste?
But now, you run under skies ungodly blue
And fields more emerald than rock in hue.
Do your eyes like your waters only forward look?
And is the past some mem'ry far upstream
In another life as if it were some other brook
That runs besides my backwards looking dream...
I know your end: it comes not unknown to be,
But here: you burble, sans future and sans past,
In the midst of summer fields sans knowledge of the sea;
It waits for you as much it waits for me.
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