Love-Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field
page 43 of 66 (65%)
page 43 of 66 (65%)
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Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing Making the journey to Bumpville, So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring An end to this ride to Bumpville; For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint - What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't! So play we have got to Bumpville! THE BROOK 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, |
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