BY ALFRED TENNISON.

    I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker² down a valley.

    By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges³, By twenty thorps, 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 forever.

    I chatter⁴ over stony⁵ ways, In little sharps and trebles； I bubble into eddying⁶ bays, I babble⁷ on the pebbles⁸.

    With many a curve my banks I fret⁹ 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 forever. I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout¹⁰, And here and there a grayling,

    And here and there a foamy¹¹ flake¹² Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel¹³,

    And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river； For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

    I steal by lawns and grassy¹⁴ 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 murmur¹⁵ under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses¹⁶； I linger by my shingly¹⁷ 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 forever.