I know a brook

I know a brook that winds its way along
A dull and stony margin —dwarfish trees
And barren vegetation mark its course.
The stern, bold grandeur of the granite rock
Frowns not upon it— and the smooth, green lawn
Slopes not to meet it. Nothing there is seen
Save one pure limpid spring, perennial,
That oozes from the rock and from the moss.
There, all that flourishes of bright and green
Is clustered, there the freshest of the grass
Laves in the welling rill. No man would think
In such a cold and barren spot, to find
Any thing sweet, or pure, or beautiful;
But yet, I say, it is the loveliest gush
—'T is so sequestered, and so arboured o'er
With nature's wildness in its summer glow —
The loveliest gush that ever spouted out
Upon my wandering path. Through mud and mire,
O'er many a bramble, many a jagged shoot
I stumbled, ere I found it. There I placed
A frail memorial— that, when again
I should revisit it, the thought might come
Of the dull tide of life, and that pure spring
Which he who drinks of never shall thirst more.