That lonely ash by the stream, sweet and tuneful did it seem, with chirping, buzzing, and melodies vast, shielded me from the sun's bright beam; and shade my eyes it did sixteen summers passed, lent it's shadow amidst the gleam, of rays over brilliant in their cast. But now, somehow, I made my way back to the scene, and some storm this season last, felled that lonely ash, that lonely ash by the stream.