  I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make 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 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. 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. And here and there a foamy lake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and 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 CHATTER OVER STONY WAYS, IN LITTLE SHARPS AND TREBLES." |
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