The Water! The Water!

The Water! the Water!

The joyous brook for me,

That tuneth through the quiet night

Its ever-living glee.

The Water! the Water!

That sleepless, merry heart,

Which gurgles on unstintedly,

And loveth to impart,

To all around it, some small measure

Of its own most perfect pleasure.

The Water! the Water!

The gentle stream for me,

That gushes from the old gray stone

Beside the alder-tree.

The Water! the Water!

That ever-bubbling spring

I loved and look'd on while a child,

In deepest wondering,—

And ask'd it whence it came and went,

And when its treasures would be spent

The Water! the Water!

The merry, wanton brook

That bent itself to pleasure me,

Like mine old shepherd crook.

The Water! the Water!

That sang so sweet at noon,

And sweeter still all night, to win

Smiles from the pale proud moon,

And from the little fairy faces

That gleam in heaven's remotest places.