The music of the brook silenced all conversation.

The music of the brook silenced all conversation.

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.

See, how the stream has overflowed
Its banks, and o'er the meadow road
Is spreading far and read more

See, how the stream has overflowed
Its banks, and o'er the meadow road
Is spreading far and wide!

The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done,
Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run.
- read more

The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done,
Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run.
- Ebenezer Elliott ("The Corn Law Rhymer"),

Gently running made sweet music with the enameled stones and
seemed to give a gentle kiss to every sedge read more

Gently running made sweet music with the enameled stones and
seemed to give a gentle kiss to every sedge he overtook in his
watery pilgrimage.

I wandered by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill;
I could not hear the brook flow,
read more

I wandered by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill;
I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still.

A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping read more

A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men read more

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
read more

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge,
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go and hinder not my course.
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.