My Little Singing Brook

There is a little singing brook

     Which idles hour by hour,

Down through the scented meadow lots,

     Impelled by mystic power.

The flowers which grace the sunny banks

     Bend to its mellow song,

And kiss the ripples as they dance

     In ecstasy along.

It glides around a grassy curve,

     Then plunges, wild with glee

Down o’er a mossy cataract,

     And gambols to the sea.

Old brindle just below the fence,

     Protected from the sun,

Revolves her brown eyes Heavenward,

     When her sweet draught is done.

And birds desert their leafy boughs

     To dip along the banks;

Then fly away to fill the air

     With sweet, melodious thanks.

And thus my little singing brook,

     Since e’er its course began,

Has gratified both beast and bird,

     And blest the heart of man.

Feb, 6, ‘93

B. Courier

Feb. 9, 1896