The Brook by Eugene Field — Read

I looked in the brook and saw a face -- / Heigh-ho, but a child was I! / There were rushes and willows in that place, / And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; / And the brook it ran its own sweet way, / As a child doth run in heedless play, / And as it ran I heard it say: / "Hasten with me / To the roistering sea / That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!"

I look in the brook and see a face -- / Heigh-ho, but the years go by! / The rushes are dead in the old-time place, / And the willows I knew when a child was I. / And the brook it seemeth to me to say, / As ever it stealeth on its way -- / Solemnly now, and not in play: / "Oh, come with me / To the slumbrous sea / That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!"

Heigh-ho, but the years go by -- / I would to God that a child were I!