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Poems for my children
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Singing
Of speckled eggs the birdie sings And nests among the trees; The sailor sings of ropes and things In ships upon the seas.
The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain; The organ with the organ man Is singing in the rain.
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
The Brook
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
I chatter over stony ways In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.
I wind about, and in and out With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers, I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.
I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars, I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
Alfred Tennyson (1809 - 1892)