The Running Brook

Singing as it winds along, Softly murmuring all the day, Listen close, and you shall hear Nature’s song in every way. Come, ye troubadours of foam, Linger, linger, come and go; Your soft voices swarm the air Like the wild and roaming doe.

Oh brook, beguiled by your graceful flow, Illusions chase me, visions glow, The moss-clad rocks, the ferny glade, In the hush of evening, sweetly laid. Here I found tranquillity, From the rushing tide to thee. Your tender murmur fills my soul, Over the stones in endless roll.

• John Burroughs