The Brookside

There is a murmuring among the trees,
A gentle sigh of bosoms’ ease,
Where quiet waters flow that seem
To echo every chatty dream.

With willow fronds that dangle low,
And peeping blooms that bend and show,
The vales rejoice in summer’s glee,
A place where joy is always free!

Oh, come ye all and sway and glide,
And feel the rush of rippling tide;
For nature’s soul on earth is wrought,
In each small prayer that life has sought!

• Thomas Hood