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!
