| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | II. Life | | By Thomas Doubleday (1790–1870) |
| | | COME, track with me this little vagrant rill, | |
| Wandering its wild course from the mountain’s breast; | |
| Now with a brink fantastic, heather-drest, | |
| And playing with the stooping flowers at will; | |
| Now moving scarce, with noiseless step and still: | 5 |
| Anon, it seems to weary of its rest, | |
| And hurries on, leaping with sparkling zest | |
| Adown the ledges of the broken hill. | |
| So let us live. Is not the life well-spent | |
| Which loves the lot that kindly Nature weaves | 10 |
| For all inheriting or adorning Earth? | |
| Which throws light pleasure over true content, | |
| Blossoms with fruitage, flowers as well as leaves, | |
| And sweetens wisdom with a taste of mirth. | | | | |
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