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 lonely traveler pauses by its side, To hear the tales its dancing waters hide. He drinks the coolness, washes dust away, And finds new strength to face the coming day. The brook flows on, through sunbeam and through shade, A liquid thread in nature’s grand brocade. It murmurs secrets to the listening land, Then joi...
