Golden Grain Garnered from the World's Great Harvest-field of Knowledge

SONG OF THE BROOK.

Reading edition

ALFRED TENNYSON.

I come from haunts of coot and hern; I make a sudden sally; And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles; I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance, Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses. And out again I curve and flow, To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.