In a nestling nook, by a rippling brook,
Where the shadows come and go;
(The idea's not new) where the moist'ning dew
Made the scented violets grow.
There, a maid forlorn, with a look of scorn,
Read this phrase considered clever,
It had caught her glance, in a book by chance,
'And the Brook ﬂows on for ever!'
With indignant look at that running brook, .
And a laugh at poet's twaddle,
She began to think by that Water's brink,
Turned it over in her noddle.
But she thought too much and her doubts were such,
Tho' to solve it she'd endeavour,
A sigh she'd heave, she could not believe,
That the Brook ﬂowed on for ever!
With desponding air she sat thinking there,
Till her thoughts grew dim and hazy.
"Oh, this routine strange! Will it never change!
There and then it drove her crazy.
Then she wandered more than she'd done before,
As she murmured, "Will it never,
Now it's once begun, ever cease to run?"
But the Brook ﬂowed on for ever!
As her madness grew, she resolved to do
What would prove the Bard deceiver.
In poetic lore she would prove once more
That she was an unbeliever.
With a wooden beam she would dam that stream,
Thinking thus its course to sever,
She went home that night in a dismal plight,
But the Brook ﬂows on for ever.