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<h2> THE BROOK </h2>
<p>I looked in the brook and saw a face—<br/>
Heigh-ho, but a child was I!<br/>
There were rushes and willows in that place,<br/>
And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by;<br/>
And the brook it ran its own sweet way,<br/>
As a child doth run in heedless play,<br/>
And as it ran I heard it say:<br/>
"Hasten with me<br/>
To the roistering sea<br/>
That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!"<br/>
I look in the brook and see a face—<br/>
Heigh-ho, but the years go by!<br/>
The rushes are dead in the old-time place,<br/>
And the willows I knew when a child was I.<br/>
And the brook it seemeth to me to say,<br/>
As ever it stealeth on its way—<br/>
Solemnly now, and not in play:<br/>
"Oh, come with me<br/>
To the slumbrous sea<br/>
That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!"<br/>
Heigh-ho, but the years go by—<br/>
I would to God that a child were I!<br/></p>
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