Explore "The Brook" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
(A Un Arroyuelo)
Anonymous
Laugh of the mountain! -- lyre of bird and tree! / Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! / The soul of April, unto whom are born / The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! / Although, where'er thy devious current strays, / The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, / To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems / Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's gaze. / How without guile thy bosom, all transparent / As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye / Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count! / How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current! / O sweet simplicity of days gone by! / Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount!