1 8. BY THE BLITHE BROOK. 



I chatter over stony ways 



In little sharps and trebles, 

 I bubble into eddying bays, 



I babble on the pebbles. 



I chatter, chatter, as I flow 



To join the brimming river, 

 For men may come, and men may go, 



But I go on forever. 



Alfred Tennyson. 



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