The Brook

To it the forest tells The mystery that haunts its heart and folds Its form in cogitation deep, that holds The shadow of each myth that dwells In nature be it Nymph or Fay or Faun And whispering of them to the dales and dells, It wanders on and on. To it the heaven shows The secret of its soul; true images Of dreams that form its aspect; and with these Reflected in its countenance it goes, With pictures of the skies, the dusk and dawn, Within its breast, as every blossom knows, For them to gaze upon. Through it the world-soul sends Its heart's creating pulse that beats and sings The music of maternity whence springs All life; and shaping earthly ends, From the deep sources of the heavens drawn, Planting its ways with beauty, on it wends, On and forever on.