Beside the mossy stones, a brook does flow, Its gentle murmur soft and low. It tells of mountains clad in misty gray, And sunbeams dancing at the break of day. It whispers secrets to the leaning reed, Of rustling leaves and scattered seed. The weary traveler pauses there to rest, With cooling water, by the breeze caressed. It journeys on through fields and wooded glen, A silver thread beyond the sight of men. Till joining with the river, wide and deep, Its quiet song th...

Beside the mossy stones, a brook does flow, Its gentle murmur soft and low. It tells of mountains clad in misty gray, And sunbeams dancing at the break of day. It whispers secrets to the leaning reed, Of rustling leaves and scattered seed. The weary traveler pauses there to rest, With cooling water, by the breeze caressed. It journeys on through fields and wooded glen, A silver thread beyond the sight of men. Till joining with the river, wide and deep, Its quiet song th...