Oh silvery streamlet of the fields,
That flowest full and free
For thee the rains of spring return,
The summer dews for thee
And when thy latest blossoms die
In autumn s chilly showers,
The winter fountains gush for thee,
Till May brings back the flowers.
Oh Stream of Life the violet springs
But once beside thy bed
But one brief summer, on thy path,
The dews of heaven are shed.
Thy parent fountains shrink away,
And close their crystal veins,
And where thy glittering current flowed
The dust alone remains.
I dream in calm delight, and watch as in a glass,
How the clouds like crowds of snowy-hued and white-robed maidens pass,
And the water into ripples breaks and sparkles as it spreads,
Like a host of armored knights with silver helmets on their heads.
And I deem the stream an emblem fit of human life may go,
For I find a mind may sparkle much and yet but shallows show,
And a soul may glow with myriad lights and wondrous mysteries,
When it only lies a dormant thing and mirrors what it sees.