Little Brook! Little Brook! You Have Such A Happy Look - Such A Very Merry Manner, As You Swerve And Curve And Crook - And Your Ripples, One And One, Reach Each Other'S Hands And Run Like Laughing Little Children In The Sun! Little Brook, Sing To Me: Sing About A Bumblebee That Tumbled From A Lily-Bell And Grumbled Mumblingly, Because He Wet The Film Of His Wings, And Had To Swim, While The Water-Bugs Raced Round And Laughed At Him! Little Brook-Sing A Song Of A Leaf That Sailed Along Down The Golden-Braided Centre Of Your Current Swift And Strong, And A Dragon-Fly That Lit On The Tilting Rim Of It, And Rode Away And Wasn't Scared A Bit. And Sing - How Oft In Glee Came A Truant Boy Like Me, Who Loved To Lean And Listen To Your Lilting Melody, Till The Gurgle And Refrain Of Your Music In His Brain Wrought A Happiness As Keen To Him As Pain. Little Brook-Laugh And Leap! Do Not Let The Dreamer Weep: Sing Him All The Songs Of Summer Till He Sink In Softest Sleep; And Then Sing Soft And Low Through His Dreams Of Long Ago - Sing Back To Him The Rest He Used To Know!