By June our brook's run out of song and speed.
Sought for much after that, it will be found
Either to have gone groping underground
(And taken with it all the Hyla breed
That shouted in the mist a month ago,
Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)—
Or flourished and come up in jewel-weed,
Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent
Even against the way its waters went.
Its bed is left a faded paper sheet
Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat—
A brook to none but who remember long.
This as it will be seen is other far
Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song.
We love the things we love for what they are.
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ok, i found that the poem is all about changes. the changes of seasons signifys the changing of a persons feelings. water resembles emotion, and the brook is water. so, as the water changes, people change. the water is changing because of the seasons changing (notice that in this poem, it is spring that does the bad things, not winter, for a change). um... there is a metaphor and a simile to watch out for. lots of personification makes you reflect on something alive that changes, like yourself or your grandparents or summink else altogether. there's loadsa shit. it's a good poem.
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