The Whispering Brook
<The Whispering Brook> A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the drowsy ferns believe. It tells of mountains where the eagles nest, Of cloud-kissed peaks in everlasting rest. A deer descends at twilight's purple hour, To drink the light with water from this bower. The fireflies awaken one by one, Their lanterns lit before the day is done. The moon appears—a pearl of tranquil grace— To watch her shifting likeness in this place. All worldly cares the murmuring waters ...
The Whispering Brook
<The Whispering Brook> A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the drowsy ferns believe. It tells of mountains where the eagles nest, Of cloud-kissed peaks in everlasting rest. A deer descends at twilight's purple hour, To drink the light with water from this bower. The fireflies awaken one by one, Their lanterns lit before the day is done. The moon appears—a pearl of tranquil grace— To watch her shifting likeness in this place. All worldly cares the murmuring waters ...
