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Have you got a Brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so -- And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there, And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there -- Why, look out for the little brook in March, When the rivers overflow, And the snows come hurrying from the fills, And the bridges often go -- And later, in August it may be -- When the meadows parching lie, Beware, lest this little brook of life, Some burning noon go dry! | 
