Classic Poem

( Longfellow )

Beside the farm-house, where the weary days
Stoop 'neath their burden in the summer sun,
Beneath the trees there does a brooklet run,
Now still, now babbling over stony ways.
It is so clear at noon the high sun's rays
Glint all the pebbly bottom; but when done
The tired day, and evening rest is won,
The quiet twilight through the farmer stays.

Upon the cooling bank, while round his knee
The children frolic, and the placid brook
Croons, rests, and lifts his weary heart on high.
For, while the children love the brook to see,
To him its shadows are a wondrous book,
Whose words are stars reflected from the sky.