Poems (Linn)/The Brook
For works with similar titles, see The Brook.
THE BROOK
THERE runs the hurrying brook away,Where meadows stretch their emerald green;Where sleek cows feed and glad birds sing;Through mountain passes, and betweenHuge boulders topped with lichens gray;
Past cottage doors where children play;Past quiet churchyards where the deadSleep all unmindful of its song;Past busy marts where weary treadThe living, heedless of its lay.
Where runs the hurrying brook away?By sandy reaches to the sea,Longing to join the waves that breakUpon the beaches wild and free,Bearing their burden of white spray.
How runs the hurrying brook away?Like melody the bobolink poursUpon the air; like the sweet strainOf music borne through half-closed doors,Like girlhood's laughter heard in May;
Like love that beautifies the way,Its journeyings pure and full and free;Like human life itself that singsToward the great eternity,—So runs the hurrying brook away.