I wandered by the brook-side, I wandered by the mill; I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still.

Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them, Like instincts, unawares.

A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

Brook! whose society the poet seeks, Intent his wasted spirits to renew; And whom the curious painter doth pursue Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks.

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns. The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then let me go and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil A blessed soul doth in Elysium.