The Brook

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Title:     The Brook
Author: Theophile Gautier [More Titles by Gautier]

Near a great water's waste
A brook mid rock and spar
Came bubbling up in haste,
As though to travel far.

It sang: "What joy to rise!
'T was dismal under ground.
I mirror now the skies.
My banks with green abound.

"Forget-me-nots--how fair!
Beseech me from the grass;
Wings frolic in the air,
And graze me as they pass.

"I yet shall be--who knows?--
A river winding down,
And greeting as it flows
Valley and cliff and town.

"I'll broider with my spray
Stone bridge and granite quay,
And bear great ships away
Unto the long wide sea."

So planned it, babbling by,
As water boiling fast
Within a basin high,
To top its brim at last.

Cradle by tomb is crossed.
Giants are early dead.
Scarce born, the brook was lost
Within a lake's deep bed.

[The end]
Theophile Gautier's poem: Brook

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