I hear a merry noise indeed:
Is it the geese and ducks that take
Their first plunge in a quiet pond
That into scores of ripples break—
Or children make this merry sound?

I see an oak tree, its strong back
Could not be bent an inch though all
Its leaves were stone, or iron even:
A boy, with many a lusty call,
Rides on a bough bareback through Heaven.

I see two children dig a hole
And plant in it a cherry-stone:
"We'll come to-morrow," one child said—
"And then the tree will be full grown,
And all its boughs have cherries red."

Ah, children, what a life to lead:
You love the flowers, but when they're past
No flowers are missed by your bright eyes;
And when cold winter comes at last,
Snowflakes shall be your butterflies.

Young Susan was a likely lass;
I knew her well and long;
A modest girl and good she was,
Or else my guess was wrong.
I went and came, I came and went,
As rivers ebb and flow:
Whene'er I came I felt content,
Nor less when forced to go.

Anon, without my choice or voice,
Things took another turn;
The Coming bade my heart rejoice,
The Going made it mourn:
I had no hope, no home, no goal,
Save Sue, and Sue alone,
My mind and thoughts, my heart and soul
Were her's, and not mine own.

Then deaf I grew, and dumb, and dull,
I saw nor bloom nor flower,
For nought was bright or beautiful
Unless in Susan's bower;
Sun, stars, or moon, by night or noon,
I could not find or mind—
I only gazed on Sue, and soon
I gazed my peepers blind.

When lo! a different season came,
And I was changed anew.
Though Susan still remained the same,
As fair, as good, as true,
I went and came, I came and went,
As rivers ebb and flow,
But always came with less content,
And went, well pleased to go.

Ye sages grave, you understand
Why many a youth and miss
Join heart and hand in Wedlock's band,
And woo, and coo, and kiss:
Ye thinkers, then, ye learned men,
I pray you tell me free,
The How and Where, the Why and When
Things went so odd with me.

I've thought, myself, both morn and night,
Both night and morn I've thought;
I've thought, and sought, and prayed for light,
But I've discovered nought;
So Love, you mind, is like the wind—
You feel it while it blows—
But whence it comes you cannot find,
Nor follow where it goes.