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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. As ever it stealeth on its way— Solemnly now, and not in play: "Oh, come with me To the slumbrous sea That is gray with the peace of the evening sky! "

Heigh-ho, but the years go by— I would to God that a child were I!