The Brook

In days gone by, in young delight, I sought the brook, that sparkled bright, Over rocks and pebbles shining, Glistening forth with silver lining.

How the bending willows lean, As the flowing waters glean, Where the lazy daisies rest, In nature’s beauty, ever blessed.

In its journey, ever onward, Merrily trill the notes of fonders; Both the laughing face of day, And the shaded charm of grey.

For the brook keeps babbling shallows, Through the laughing grassy meadows— Where the wind, in whispers low, Makes more merry tales to flow.

• James Russell Lowell