Classic Poem

I

I know a brook that flits and flows
Where many a water-lily grows;
That leaps with singing down the hills,
Then sleeps in meadows of repose.
I know a brook whose silvery sheen
Gleams through its arbored banks of green,
Then dashes down a mad ravine, —
I know a brook:
But till its latest mile is gone
A brook must ever travel on.

This brook I know is fed by rills
That tumble from the singing hills,
This brook leaps down its bowldered banks
And far its liquid music spills.
Then flows where deep-toned pines complain,
And whippoorwills pour their song of pain
To the unpitying night in vain —
This brook I know:
For till its latest mile is gone
A brook must ever travel on.

And then it sweeps from out the gloom
To turn the mill and whirl the loom,
And draws a nurture from the night
That makes its water-lilies bloom.
It has its days of gloom and glee,
Its dark pine woods and lighted lea, —
And then 'tis lost within the sea,
This brook of mine:
For till its latest mile is gone
A brook must ever travel on.

II

I know a life that flits and flows
Where many a water-lily grows,
That dances down the singing hills,
And sleeps in meadows of repose.
I know a life, that, like a stream,
Has caught the glory and the gleam
Of many a white cloud's floating dream.
I know a life:
And till its latest hour is gone
A life must ever travel on.

I know a life whose winding ways
Have flowed through leagues of sunny days,
And gathered music for its song
From meadow larks and woodland lays.
This life I know has flowed alone
Where groves of pine make solemn moan,
Has flowed by night when no star shone —
This life I know:
For till its latest hour is gone
A life must ever travel on.

And then it leaped from out the gloom
To turn the mill and whirl the loom,
And drew a nurture from the night
That made its water-lilies bloom;
Though swollen by the rain of tears,
Or smiled on by the sunny years,
The sea's far voice is in thine ears,
O life I know!
And till thy latest hour is gone
Toward that dim sea flow bravely on.