Dogwood blossoms fleck the brook Where the branches lean to look At the golden ripples weaving Shimmering tapestry on stones. Then, with soft, ecstatic moans, The brook leaps down a mossy ledge; Forget-me-nots grow at its edge; Water-cresses crowd in, leaving No open water for a space; Trout dart out and swiftly race To hide among the roots that lace The hidden current. Then again The stream descends a tiny glen Into a pool, once bridged by men. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by THOMAS HARDY THE JOURNEY ONWARDS by THOMAS MOORE NEARER by ROBERT MALISE BOWYER NICHOLS LET ALL THE EARTH KEEP SILENCE by LUCY A. K. ADEE ON THE ENGINE AGAIN by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |