The Brook

Alfred Lord Tennyson  (1809-1892) The Brook I come from haunts of coot and hern,   I make a sudden sallyAnd sparkle out among the fern,   To bicker down a valley.By thirty hills I hurry down,   Or slip between the ridges,By twenty thorpes, a little town,   And half a hundred bridges.Till last by Philip's farm I flow   To join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,   But I go on for ever.I chatter over stony ways,   In little sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,   I babble on the pebbles.With many a curve my banks I fret   By many a field and fallow,And many a fairy foreland set   With willow-weed and mallow.I chatter, chatter, as I flow   To join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,   But I go on for ever.I wind about, and in and out,   With here a blossom sailing,And here and there a lusty trout,   And here and there a grayling,And here and there a foamy flake   Upon me, as I travelWith many a silvery waterbreak   Above the golden gravel,And draw them all along, and flow   To join the brimming riverFor men may come and men may go,   But I go on for ever.I steal by lawns and grassy plots,   I slide by hazel covers;I move the sweet forget-me-nots   That grow for happy lovers.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 for ever.