Isaac Walton to River and Brook

Which is more sweet,—the slow mysterious stream,

Where sleeps the pike throughout the long noon hours,

Which moats with emerald old cathedral towers,

And winds through tufted timber like the dream

That glides through summer sleep;—where white swans teem,

And dragonflies and broad-leaved floating flowers,

Where through the hanging boughs you see the mowers

Among the grasses, whet their scythes that gleam;

Or that blue brook where leaps the speckled trout,

That laughs and sings and dances on its way

Among a thousand bafflings in and out;

Bubbling and gurgling through the livelong day

Between the stones, in riot, reel, and rout,

While rays of sun make rainbows in the spray?