C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Sun and the Brook

Translation of John Sullivan Dwight

THE SUN he spoke

To the Meadow-Brook,

And said, “I sorely blame you;

Through every nook

The wild-flower folk

You hunt, as naught could shame you.

What but the light

Makes them so bright,—

The light from me they borrow?

Yet me you slight,

To get a sight

At them, and I must sorrow!

Ah! pity take

On me, and make

Your smooth breast stiller, clearer;

And as I wake

In the blue sky-lake,

Be thou, O Brook, my mirror!”

The Brook flowed on,

And said anon:—

“Good Sun, it should not grieve you,

That as I run

I gaze upon

The motley flowers, and leave you.

You are so great

In your heavenly state,

And they so unpretending,

On you they wait,

And only get

The graces of your lending.

But when the sea

Receiveth me,

From them I must me sever:

I then shall be

A glass to thee,

Reflecting thee forever.”