The Stream
O gentle Stream, that winds and flows, What secrets do your waters keep? Through ancient woods, where sunlight glows, You spin your quiet song, so deep.
How oft I sit upon your shore, And listen to your tranquil grace, Each ripple speaks of tales of yore, In nature’s heart, you find your place.
Your music lulls the weary heart, As you entwine the stones and sand; In every bend, you weave an art, A whispered touch from nature’s hand.
- Mary Elizabeth Coleridge