Beside the unwearied singing brook it lies, No roof save arching trees and azure skies, Green with ferns and white with meadow-rue, Vigor of golden sunlight sparkling through. The lisping note of a startled, baby bird With the restful song of the tireless brook is heard; And now and then the vireo's warbling note On melody-awakening breeze afloat. The scent of ferns, the woodsy fragrance there, The taste of sparkling waters make it fair. The mosses' velvet green his fingers bless; While eager thoughts flow on without duress. No wonder here the poet dreams and sings, When inspiration all about him brings. |