The Brook

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To it the forest tells
  The mystery that haunts its heart and folds
  Its form in cogitation deep, that holds
  The shadow of each myth that dwells
  In nature--be it Nymph or Fay or Faun--
  And whispering of them to the dales and dells,
  It wanders on and on.

  To it the heaven shows
  The secret of its soul; true images
  Of dreams that form its aspect; and with these
  Reflected in its countenance it goes,
  With pictures of the skies, the dusk and dawn,
  Within its breast, as every blossom knows,
  For them to gaze upon.

  Through it the world-soul sends
  Its heart's creating pulse that beats and sings
  The music of maternity whence springs
  All life; and shaping earthly ends,
  From the deep sources of the heavens drawn,
  Planting its ways with beauty, on it wends,
  On and forever on.

© Madison Julius Cawein