Quotes on Brooks

The brook would lose its song if we removed the rocks.

Be inwardly ever newly joyous, like the ever-fresh laughing waters of a gurgling brook.

These are the forgeries of jealousy; And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

What a joy it is to feel the soft, springy earth under my feet once more, to follow grassy roads that lead to ferny brooks where I can bathe my fingers in a cataract of rippling notes, or to clamber over a stone wall into green fields that tumble and roll and climb in riotous gladness!

I gazed upon the glorious sky_x000D_ _x000D_ And the green mountains round,_x000D_ _x000D_ And thought that when I came to lie_x000D_ _x000D_ At rest within the ground,_x000D_ _x000D_ 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June_x000D_ _x000D_ When brooks send up a cheerful tune,_x000D_ _x000D_ And groves a joyous sound,_x000D_ _x000D_ The sexton's hand, my grave to make,_x000D_ _x000D_ The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

Terrible thing to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time.

O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look; O let me for one moment touch her wrist; Let me one moment to her breathing list; And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.

Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.

A child her wayward pencil drew On margins of her book; Garlands of flower, dancing elves, Bud, butterfly, and brook, Lessons undone, and plum forgot, Seeking with hand and heart The teacher whom she learned to love Before she knew t'was Art.

I've sucked way too much cement for this year. Bad juju rising off them city sidewalks. I need to babble with a brook or two, inhale starlight, make friends with some trees.