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A poem by Jared Barhite

The Stream's Story

Title:     The Stream's Story
Author: Jared Barhite [More Titles by Barhite]

I sat me down in a forest old,
Beside a low murmuring stream;
I lent my ear to the tale it told,
For 'twas more than fancy's dream;

It spoke of days when the earth was young,
When it flowed more cheerfully,
When its water sang the rocks among,
As they danced down toward the sea.

"In the ancient days my banks were filled,
Nor shrank I from heat or frost,
For the shaded, moss-crowned earth then held
The drops, so that none were lost.

"The old forest then stretched far away,
And its sheltering arms embraced
Sweet perfumed plants and flowerets gay,
Whose lives long ago have ceased.

"For the sturdy woodman plied the blade
And the forest soon lay low;
Then the burning sun and the want of shade
Soon shrank my full crystal flow.

"Now when the rain comes, my waters roar,
And my spoils are sad to see,
For the earth-vaults where I kept my store,
Hold no surplus now for me.

"Man's greed for wealth has my beauty marred
And robbed me of early joys,
But I sing again, with hope restored,
When I see the girls and boys

"Who come with their songs in merry May,
O'er valley, hill, and plain,
To plant young trees on this Arbor Day,
So in joy I smile again."

* * * * *

To wander all day, by a purling stream
That flows through some mossy dell,
And watch its silvery waters gleam,
And list to its music's swell
As it dashes down some wild cascade,
On its race to the wide, wide sea,
With sweeter strains than old Orpheus played,
Is supreme delight to me.

[The end]
Jared Barhite's poem: Stream's Story