The Brook – Alfred Lord Tennyson 

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 thorpes, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 
Till last by Philip’s farm I flow 

To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 
I chatter over stony ways, 

In little sharps and trebles, 

I bubble into eddying bays, 

I babble on the pebbles. 
With many a curve my banks I fret 

By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 

With willow-weed and mallow. 
I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 
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, 
And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 

With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 
And draw them all along, and flow 

To join the brimming river 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 
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 slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 

Among my skimming swallows; 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 

Against my sandy shallows. 
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 for ever. 

Crossing The Bar – Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.