The Brook by Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Brook , A Cambridge Scholar with no degree but exceptional skill in the artistry of the written language, Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 – 1892) stands among the best known as well as the most criticized poets of all time. The poet quite literally spent his entire life dedicated to pen and parchment.

Records indicate that Alfred, Lord Tennyson began writing as early as five years of age and never stopped doing so. Where his drive and passion for literature was formed is quite obviously from his family roots. His two brothers were poets (though less popular). This combined with his scholarly influences refined his skills as a blacksmith does a treasured metal.

 

The Brook by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

The Brook by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a 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 thorpes, 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 for ever.I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.With many a curve my banks I fret
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 for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

Google News For Englishgoln 35 The Brook by Alfred Lord Tennyson

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

I steal by lawns and grassy 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 murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly 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 for ever.

 

The Brook by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

 

Leave a Comment