The poet sat by the babbling brook
whence all but he had fled;
the poet babbled on; the brook,
dried up and long since dead.
By the babbless brook The poet, Shepherd, sat... Babbling on and on About this and that.
Water water, neverywhere and more than a dropp to drink. a dried-up burn, (or even brook) can still make a poet think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sorry lady, your meter ran out...