)

)

. 1

18 . BY THE BLITHE BROOK.

I chatter over stony waysIn little sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

I chatter, chatter, as 1 flowTo join the brimming river,

For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on forever.

Alfred Tennyson.

167