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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116435" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Rivulet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This little rill that, from the springs<br>Of yonder grove, its current brings,<br>Plays on the slope awhile, and then<br>Goes prattling into groves again,<br>Oft to its warbling waters drew<br>My little feet, when life was new.<br>When woods in early green were drest,<br>And from the chambers of the west<br>The warmer breezes, travelling out,<br>Breathed the new scent of flowers about,<br>My truant steps from home would stray,<br>Upon its grassy side to play,<br>List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn,<br>And crop the violet on its brim,<br>With blooming cheek and open brow,<br>As young and gay, sweet rill, as thou.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And when the days of boyhood came,<br>And I had grown in love with fame,<br>Duly I sought thy banks, and tried<br>My first rude numbers by thy side.<br>Words cannot tell how bright and gay<br>The scenes of life before me lay.<br>Then glorious hopes, that now to speak<br>Would bring the blood into my cheek,<br>Passed o’er me; and I wrote, on high,<br>A name I deemed should never die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Years change thee not. Upon yon hill<br>The tall old maples, verdant still,<br>Yet tell, in grandeur of decay,<br>How swift the years have passed away,<br>Since first, a child, and half afraid,<br>I wandered in the forest shade.<br>Thou, ever-joyous rivulet,<br>Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet;<br>And sporting with the sands that pave<br>The windings of thy silver wave,<br>And dancing to thy own wild chime,<br>Thou laughest at the lapse of time.<br>The same sweet sounds are in my ear<br>My early childhood loved to hear;<br>As pure thy limpid waters run;<br>As bright they sparkle to the sun;<br>As fresh and thick the bending ranks<br>Of herbs that line thy oozy banks;<br>The violet there, in soft May dew,<br>Comes up, as modest and as blue;<br>As green amid thy current’s stress,<br>Floats the scarce-rooted watercress;<br>And the brown ground-bird, in thy glen,<br>Still chirps as merrily as then.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Thou changest not—but I am changed<br>Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged;<br>And the grave stranger, come to see<br>The play-place of his infancy,<br>Has scarce a single trace of him<br>Who sported once upon thy brim.<br>The visions of my youth are past<br>Too bright, too beautiful to last.<br>I’ve tried the world—it wears no more<br>The coloring of romance it wore.<br>Yet well has Nature kept the truth<br>She promised in my earliest youth.<br>The radiant beauty shed abroad<br>On all the glorious works of God,<br>Shows freshly, to my sobered eye,<br>Each charm it wore in days gone by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> A few brief years shall pass away,<br>And I, all trembling, weak, and gray,<br>Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold<br>My ashes in the embracing mould,<br>(If haply the dark will of Fate<br>Indulge my life so long a date),<br>May come for the last time to look<br>Upon my childhood’s favorite brook.<br>Then dimly on my eye shall gleam<br>The sparkle of thy dancing stream;<br>And faintly on my ear shall fall<br>Thy prattling current’s merry call;<br>Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright<br>As when thou met'st my infant sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And I shall sleep—and on thy side,<br>As ages after ages glide,<br>Children their early sports shall try,<br>And pass to hoary age and die.<br>But thou, unchanged from year to year,<br>Gayly shalt play and glitter here;<br>Amid young flowers and tender grass<br>Thy endless infancy shall pass;<br>And, singing down thy narrow glen,<br>Shalt mock the fading race of men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116435" data-title="The Rivulet de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="This little rill that, from the springs/Of yonder grove, its current brings,/Plays on the slope awhile, and then/Goes prattling into groves again,/Oft to its warbling waters drew/My little feet, when life was new./When woods in early green were dr..."></div>
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