Sometimes I read things that transport me to a world that is flawless…

To a world that enchants and holds me spellbound…

To a world where time stands still…

To a world where purity meets perfection and simplicity meets beauty.

And I want to thank the writer to pen such words that make me smile and tell myself that I have a long long long long way to go…

I am here to thank Alfred Lord Tennyson. I want to thank him for the magic he creates with his poem THE BROOK. I want to thank him for putting his pen to paper. I want to thank him a million times over for the image he creates in my mind every time I read this poem. (I remember reading in way back in my ICSE school and I still vividly recall that very image I created as he serenaded to me.)

Today at noon, when I read the poem again, I conjured the same image in my mind and I felt like a child who knows no wrong.

A child who believes in the power of imagination…

A child who believes in fairies…

A child who believes in stories…

I want to thank you Lord Tennyson for THE BROOK. I want to thank you for the Assonance (“I linger by my shingly bars/I loiter around my cresses.) I want to thank you for the Imagery (“I come from haunts of coot and hern/ I make a sudden sally/And sparkle out among the fern/ To bicker down a valley.) I want to thank you for the Onomatopoeia (“I bubble into eddying bays/ I babble on the pebbles.).

And now I call unto those who love a good poem.

I also call unto those who are so practical that even poetry can’t move you!

I call unto you to get mesmerized by this powerful piece that I know will enthrall me even I’m 80 yrs old.

I present to you Alfred Lord Tennyson at his best…

THE BROOK

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 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 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 comeand 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 trout,
And here and there a grayling,
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,
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 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 sunb
eam 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 forever.
Lord Alfred Tennyson.
(1809-1892)