GURGLE, gurgle, gurgle,
Over ledge and stone;
How I'm going, flowing,
Westward, all alone;
All alone, but happy,
Happy and hale am I,
Clasped by the emerald meadows,
Flushed by the golden sky!
No kindred brook is calling,
To woo these tides in glee;
I hear no neighboring voices
Of inland rill, or sea;
But the sedges thrill above me,
And where I blithely pass,
Coy winds, like nymphs in ambush,
Seem whispering through the grass.
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle;
Hark! the tiny swell
Of wavelets softly, silverly
Toned like a fairy bell,
Whose every note, dropped sweetly
In mellowed glamour round,
Echo hath caught and harvested
In airy sheaves of sound!
