A brook’s where water’s made, At the turn of every lane, With a babble and a splash, Delighting in its easy gain.

Never mind the stones that fall, For deep it goes, and shallow too, It eddies near the dizzy drops, And sweeps the stones as new.

The secrets of these waters flow In murmurs known to only them, Filling hearts with love’s sweet hope, As peaceful as a silent gem.

• Robert Frost