The brook flows down from the mountain, To the river it does run; The winds do whisper in the heather, The grass is glistening with the sun.

Through the woods the shadows play, In the vale the flowers bloom; The beauty of the earth is ever Making our hearts resume.

In yon golden skies above The lark flits high in mirth; So too we wander, hand in hand, Through the wonder of the earth.

• Alfred Lord Tennyson