The Frozen Brook (Poem by Frank Oliver Call)

Daily Classic Poem

The Frozen Brook
By Frank Oliver Call


The winter woods lie gray and still
    Beneath the dreary sunless skies,
The brook that rippled down the hill
    In summer hours, all silent lies.

And though its breast by ice is bound,
    By bending low and listening long,
I hear a faint and far-off sound — 
    The echo of a summer song.

O weary heart, though cold and drear
    The days along thy pathway seem,
To Nature's breast bend low thine ear
    And listen to its pulsing stream.

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