البـــــوابـــة
The Brooks Song
I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make 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.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.
I chatter over stony ways,In sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,I babble on the pebbles.
...
I chatter, chatter, as I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.
Lord Alfred Tennyson
I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make 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.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.
I chatter over stony ways,In sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,I babble on the pebbles.
...
I chatter, chatter, as I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.
Lord Alfred Tennyson
