Come, we shall gather by the brook, Where the waters sing their softest tune. Under the shade of the ancient oak, In the hush of afternoon.

Where lilies dance with the quiet waves, And dragonflies weave through sunlit air, The whispers of nature softly raise, Every soul from despair.

Oh, how the rustling leaves recount, Tales of love and life in bloom, As creatures round take the fount, Of joy that dissolves all gloom.

• Walt Whitman