Bliss Carman (1861–1929)

I WAS a reed in the stilly stream,

Heigh-ho!

And thou my fellow of moveless dream,

Heigh-ho!

Hardly a word the river said,

As there we bowed him a listless head.

Only the yellowbird pierced the noon;

And summer died to a drowsier swoon,

Till the little wind of night came by,

With the little stars in the lonely sky,

And the little leaves that only stir,

When shyest wood-fellows confer.

It shook the stars in their purple sphere,

And laid a frost on the lips of fear.

It woke our slumbering desire,

As a breath that blows a mellow fire,

And the thrill that made the forest start,

Was a little sigh from our happy heart.

This is the story of the world,

Heigh-ho!

This is the glory of the world,

Heigh-ho!