Classic Poem

Where the waters gently flow,
There I always love to go;
As the waters gently glide,
Sweet I sing in all my pride.

Mounted on a bending reed,
Chanting as my fancies lead,
Tender tales I oft repeat,
Clear, harmonious, soft, and sweet.

Thus myself I entertain,
Free from sorrow, free from pain;
Free from care, and free from strife,
Thus I pass my harmless life.

When the gentle swelling breeze,
Mildly whistles through the trees,
Though my pipe is clear and strong,
Mild and gentle is my song.

When in spring refreshing showers
Fall to glad the opening flowers,
Sweetly I in song complain
Of the gently falling rain.

When nature wears an angry form,
And reeds are broken by the storm,
Then in each note the thing is told,
Then my song is fierce and bold.

Be the weather foul or fine,
Let it rain, or hail, or shine;
Prove the weather how it will,
I can sing about it still.