UPON the brook, for treasure-craft,
I sail some petals, red and white;
They always go away from me—
They float much faster in their flight,
Than I can run along the bank.
My precious wee bit things bear freight;
Which very soon falls overboard,
And sinks where miser-folk await
To snatch my sparkling treasure-store.
Perhaps the waters dash too high
For such a little fleet of ships,
And that may be the reason why
My crafts do not return again.
Still, I expect them any day.
I've lost some things I love the best,—
My flower-chains and ribbons gay—
But, though I miss these pretty things,
I love much more the sailing-fun,
And launch new ships when morning sings,
And rainbow mist floats in the sun.