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How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
read more
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
. . . .
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my read more
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.
It is the calm and silent water that drowns a man.
It is the calm and silent water that drowns a man.
Water is the mother of the vine,
The nurse and fountain of fecundity,
The adorner and refresher read more
Water is the mother of the vine,
The nurse and fountain of fecundity,
The adorner and refresher of the world.
The deeper the waters are, the more still they run.
The deeper the waters are, the more still they run.
A cup of cold Adam from the next purling stream.
A cup of cold Adam from the next purling stream.
Stones are hollowed out by the constant dropping of water.
Stones are hollowed out by the constant dropping of water.
Pure water is the best of gifts that man to man can bring,
But who am I that I read more
Pure water is the best of gifts that man to man can bring,
But who am I that I should have the best of anything?
Let princes revel at the pump, let peers with ponds make free,
Whisky, or wine, or even beer is good enough for me.
