Classic Poem

I there beheld the brook run by
In evening light below my feet,
Beside the new-mown grass, now dry
And smelling sweet—but far below
The stream's high-swelling watershed,
While yet it had long miles to go
To reach the sea waves on ahead.

I knew not where the cloud that pass'd
So far above the hills' high tops
First rose, or where its mist at last
Would fall in drops—nor where the man
That came along the flat or steep
Outreachings of the road began
His way, or night would shade his sleep.

And all our life-hours, one by one,
Glide ever on from night to noon,
And days and months go, sun by sun,
And moon by moon—nor can we tell
How far our life may yet extend,
But this, alas! we know too well,
That some dear lives too quickly end.