The brook…

Email: Fiancé’s birthday. Loves nature, classic poetry. (Canada)

Happy Birthday!

I come from haunts of coot & hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And 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.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps & trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret,
By many a field & fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set,
With willow-weed & mallow.

I chatter, chatter as I flow,
To join the brimming river,
With here a blossom sailing,
Here & there a lusty trout,
And here & there a grayling,

Here & there a foamy flake,
Upon me as I travel,
With many a silvery water break,
Above the golden gravel.

I draw them all along & flow,
I steal by lawns & 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 & stars,
In brambly wildernesses,
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses.

Alfred Lord Tennyson


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