"Brooklet" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... directly in front of the garden was the lake, with its smooth extent of deep blue, with satin or moir sheen according as it was touched by the gentle breeze, - and behind were the mountains with thousands of primulas, the purple erica, and the pink and white Christmas rose. The brooklet was still there - and the old pillared portico, where the stone showed from under the crumbling stucco and the roses had pushed their way through the stone paving ...
— The Bride of Dreams • Frederik van Eeden
... fears until the day breaks, and early morning, peeping in at her, wafts her a kiss as it flies over the lawn and field and brooklet. Then, wearied by her watching, she flings herself upon her bed, and, gaining a short but dreamless sleep, wakens refreshed, to laugh at her misgivings of the night before,—at her grandfather's hints,—at aught that speaks ...
— Molly Bawn • Margaret Wolfe Hamilton
... found my fingers at the work of tenderly unravelling a little skein of major melody, as soft and childlike as the innocent babble of a small brooklet flowing under ferns. I followed this airy suggestion obediently, till it led me of itself to its fitting end, when I ceased playing. I was greeted by a little burst of applause, and looking up, saw that all the gentlemen had come in from the dining-room, and were standing near me. The stately ...
— A Romance of Two Worlds • Marie Corelli
... she sang and knitted, Tim Tim ran down the tiny path made by the woodfolk, past the bubbling spring and around the bend in the bank of the tumbling brooklet until he came to his home, which was another hole in the trunk of ...
— Friendly Fairies • Johnny Gruelle
... Chattanooga, nestling down in the bend of the river, while away in the distance occasional glimpses of the stream could be had as it wound in and out around the hills and mountains that lined its either side, until the great river looked no larger than a mountain brooklet. From the highest peak of Lookout Mountain we catch faint streaks of far away Alabama; on the right, North Carolina; to the north, Tennessee; and to the south and east were Georgia and our own dear South ...
— History of Kershaw's Brigade • D. Augustus Dickert
... sky than that of Sunday, the 11th of July. On that morning I went with a party of friends to the head of the ditch, a walk of about three miles in length. I do not believe that nature herself ever made anything so lovely as this artificial brooklet. It glides like a living thing through the very heart of the forest, sometimes creeping softly on, as though with muffled feet, through a wilderness of aquatic plants, sometimes dancing gayly over a white-pebbled bottom, now making a sunshine in a shady place, across the mossy ...
— The Shirley Letters from California Mines in 1851-52 • Louise Amelia Knapp Smith Clappe
... either of which a traveller with plenteous portmanteaus, hair or leather, must be prepared in villages thereabouts. Totally unembarrassed, we lounged along or leaped along, light-hearted. When the river neared us, or winsome brooklet from the hill-side thwarted our path, we stooped and lapped from their pools of coolness, or tasted that most ethereal tipple, the mingled air and water of electric bubbles, as they slid brightly ...
— The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 10, No. 58, August, 1862 • Various
... father, "In the hunt you never help me; Every bow you touch is broken, 110 Snapped asunder every arrow; Yet come with me to the forest, You shall bring the hunting homeward." Down a narrow pass they wandered, Where a brooklet led them onward, 115 Where the trail of deer and bison Marked the soft mud on the margin, Till they found all further passage Shut against them, barred securely By the trunks of trees uprooted, 120 Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, And forbidding further passage. "We must go back," ...
— The Song of Hiawatha - An Epic Poem • Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
... brown meadow over, And found not even a leaf of clover; Nor where the sod was chill and wet Could she spy one tint of violet; But where the brooklet ran A noisy swollen billow, She picked in her little ...
— On the Tree Top • Clara Doty Bates
... joyous footsteps Once perchance were wont to pass, Ran a little streamlet making One "blue fold in the dark grass;" And where, from its hidden fountain, Clear and bright the brooklet burst Two had crawled, and each was bending O'er ...
— War Poetry of the South • Various
... sang the little broken songs of late autumn and there was a great stir of insect life in the grass at my feet. The path up to this coign of vantage, where I think I shall make it a habit to ensconce myself a while of a morning, is for a little while common to the peasant and a little clear brooklet. It is pleasant, in the tempered grey daylight of the olive shadows, to see the people picking their way among the stones and the water and the brambles; the women especially, with the weights poised on their heads and walking all from the hips ...
— The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson - Volume 1 • Robert Louis Stevenson
... the brooklet 'Neath the hawthorn tree, Clear it runs as crystal, Fresh and bright and free. And the thrush sings loudly On the hawthorn spray, And the brooklet ever ...
— Chambers's Elementary Science Readers - Book I • Various
... us go forth into the summer woods. The eye takes in the charming prospect,—the trees dressed in beautiful green; the "grassy carpet," parted ever and anon by a gliding, gurgling brooklet; the wild flower peeping up near the feet; a landscape of even surface, or at times pleasingly undulated. The atmosphere is freighted with a delightful fragrance; and from rustling bough, from warbling bird, from rippling brook, and from the joyous ...
— Music and Some Highly Musical People • James M. Trotter
... a doubtful tradition, stole out from his quiet cell in Malvern Abbey, and, whilst his brethren feasted, climbed the gentle slope of the Worcestershire hills, and drank in the beauties of the varied landscape at his feet. There, on a May morning, as he rested under a bank by the side of a brooklet, and was lulled to sleep by the murmuring of the water, he dreamed those dreams that set waking people to thinking, and gave a powerful impetus to the moral and social ...
— The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18, No. 109, November, 1866 • Various
... Where the tinkling brooklet passes Through the heart of dewy grasses, Will and I Have heard the mock-bird singing, And the field lark seen upspringing, In his happy flight afar, Like a tiny ...
— De La Salle Fifth Reader • Brothers of the Christian Schools
... the river; but the trail did not turn in that direction; it led straight at the bluff in the elbow of the current. The mules and horses followed it in a pack, guided by their acute scent toward the nearest water, a still invisible brooklet which ran at the base of the butte. Presently, while yet a mile from the stream, they were seized by a mania. With a loud beastly cry they broke simultaneously into a run, nostrils distended and quivering, eyes bloodshot and protruding, heads thrust forward with fierce ...
— Overland • John William De Forest
... I know. An exile on his rock, My father had a brooklet for his friend To drown the gaoler's voice, and that is why At Schoenbrunn, which is my Saint Helena, My soul must not be left deprived of comfort. Having the gaoler ...
— L'Aiglon • Edmond Rostand
... "And whither goest thou, gentle sigh" The Return of Spring Spring The Child Asleep Death of Archbishop Turpin The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille A Christmas Carol Consolation To Cardinal Richelieu The Angel and the Child On the Terrace of the Aigalades To my Brooklet Barreges Will ever the dear days come back again? At La Chaudeau A Quiet Life The Wine of Jurancon Friar Lubin Rondel My Secret From the Italian. The Celestial Pilot The Terrestrial Paradise Beatrice To Italy Seven Sonnets and a Canzone I. The Artist II. Fire. III. Youth and Age IV. Old Age V. ...
— The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
... bountiful harvest. Our old friend—a Friend—for though you, dear reader, do not know him, he was both at the time we speak of—our old friend, again trudging on, would pause on the brow of a hill, at a stile, or on some rustic bridge, casting its little obliging arch over a brooklet, and inhale the fresh autumnal air; and after looking round him, nod to himself, as if to say, "Ay, all good, all beautiful!" and so he went on again. But it would not be long before he would be arrested again by clusters of rich, jetty blackberries, hanging from some old hawthorn hedge; ...
— Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Volume 1, No. 4, September, 1850 • Various
... before his Father, God. For miles around his feet have pressed the sod Which ne'er was turned by plow up to the sun— Wilds that the foot of white man seldom trod, And where no clearance had as yet begun: Where he could sit and watch some charming brooklet run. ...
— The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse - Together With Numerous Songs Upon Canadian Subjects • Thomas Cowherd
... brooklet'll Tempt us at eve to set out, Greenheart in hand, and endeavour to hook ...
— Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 159, September 1st, 1920 • Various
... smoked, Gods of Sicily evoked With the flute, till sulphur taint Dulled and lulled the echoes faint; Pliny, soon his style mislaid, Dogged Miletus' merry maid, As she showed eburnean limbs All-multiplied by brooklet brims; Plautus, see! like Plutus, hold Bosomfuls of orchard-gold, Learns he why that mystic core Was sweet Venus' meed of yore? Dante dreamt (while spirits pass As in wizard's jetty glass) Each black-bossed Briarian trunk Waved live arms like furies drunk; ...
— Poems • Victor Hugo
... whom she had only known to lose, she was yet as playful as a kitten. I was twice her age—just ten—at this period; and a sort of instinct led me to adopt the little creature, in place of poor Edgar, in the friendship of my boyish heart. I drew her in her little wagon—carried her over the brooklet—constructed her tiny playthings—and in consideration of my usefulness, in most generally keeping her in the best of humors, her mother was not unwilling that I should be her frequent playmate. Nay, at such times she could spare a gentle word even to me, ...
— Confession • W. Gilmore Simms
... unchanged over the Axe estuary for hundreds of years. Turning up from the main street is a Devonshire lane eight feet wide or thereabouts. It ascends to a farm on the hillside, and its steep high banks are covered with ferns and primroses. A tiny brooklet twitters down by its side. At the top of the down is a line of old hawthorns blown slantingly by south-west storms into a close, solid mass of shoots and prickles. They are dwarfed in their struggle, but have thick trunks, many of them covered ...
— More Pages from a Journal • Mark Rutherford
... this rate, wilt be boiling With madness or despair and woe. Enough of this! Thy sweetheart sits there lonely, And all to her is close and drear. Her thoughts are on thy image only, She holds thee, past all utterance, dear. At first thy passion came bounding and rushing Like a brooklet o'erflowing with melted snow and rain; Into her heart thou hast poured it gushing: And now thy brooklet's dry again. Methinks, thy woodland throne resigning, 'Twould better suit so great a lord The poor young monkey to reward For all the love with which she's pining. She finds the ...
— Faust • Goethe
... waving over honey-laden clover and laughing veronica, hiding the greenfinches, baffling the bee. From rose-loved hedges, woodbine, and cornflower azure-blue, where yellowing wheat-stalks crowd up under the shadow of green firs. All the devious brooklet's sweetness where the iris stays the sunlight; all the wild woods hold the beauty; all the broad hill's thyme and freedom: thrice a hundred years repeated. A hundred years of cowslips, blue-bells, violets; purple spring and golden autumn; sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the night immortal; ...
— The Open Air • Richard Jefferies
... the midst of Tuscany," I straight began: "a brooklet, whose well-head Springs up in Falterona, with his race Not satisfied, when he some hundred miles Hath measur'd. From his banks bring, I this frame. To tell you who I am were words misspent: For yet my name scarce sounds on ...
— The Divine Comedy, Complete - The Vision of Paradise, Purgatory and Hell • Dante Alighieri
... the man she could not believe that insanity lurked behind that laughing, level gaze of her carrier. She found herself continually forgetting that the man was mad. He had turned toward the bank now, and a couple of steps carried them to the low sward that fringed the little brooklet. Here he ...
— The Mad King • Edgar Rice Burroughs
... I forget The grass spring-wet And the quivering stem On the brooklet's hem, And the brake thrust up And the saffron's cup, Each fashioned thing From the heart of Spring, Long ere I forget it, the house of thy word And the doors of thy ...
— The Sundering Flood • William Morris
... briar, The year-old cart-tracks perfect in the mire, The wayside smoke, perchance, the dwarfish huts, And ramblers' donkey drinking from the ruts:— Long ere you trace how deviously it leads, Back from man's chimneys and the bleating meads To the woodland shadow, to the silvan hush, When but the brooklet chuckles in the brush— Back from the sun and bustle of the vale To where the great voice of the nightingale Fills all the forest like a single room, And all the banks smell of the golden broom; So wander on until the eve descends, And back returning to your firelit friends, You see the rosy ...
— The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition Vol. 14 (of 25) • Robert Louis Stevenson
... music ripples in one's first thoughts of it like the brooklet in its meandering midst pebbles and rocks, before the mind can duly express it to the ear,—so the harmony of divine Science first broke upon my sense, before gathering experience and confidence to articulate it. ...
— Retrospection and Introspection • Mary Baker Eddy
... "Anent a brooklet as I lay reclined, Listening to hear the water glide along, Minding how thorough the green meads it twined, While caves responded to its muttering song, To distant-rising Avon as it sped, Where, among hills, ...
— Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. CCCXXXII. - June, 1843.,Vol. LIII. • Various
... an' watchin', Shoo caars(4) aat on t' soft meadow grass, Listenin' to t' murmurin' brooklet, An' waitin' for t' sweethear't to pass; Shoo drops her wark i' her appron, An' glints aat on t' settin' sun, An' wonders if he goes a-courtin' When his long day's wark ...
— Yorkshire Dialect Poems • F.W. Moorman
... slender stream of water that escaped from the brow of a cliff on the American side below the Falls, and spun itself into a gauze of silvery mist, "that's the Bridal Veil; and I suppose you think the stream, which is making such a fine display, yonder, is some idle brooklet, ending a long course of error and worthlessness by that spectacular plunge. It's nothing of the kind; it's an honest hydraulio canal, of the most straightforward character, a poor but respectable mill-race which has devoted itself strictly to business, and has turned mill-wheels instead of fooling ...
— Henry James, Jr. • William Dean Howells
... was gay as a garden, And it glowed with a flowery red; But the meadows had never a grass blade, And the brooklet—it ...
— McGuffey's Third Eclectic Reader • William Holmes McGuffey
... ahead, paying no heed to his lamentations. He left the plain behind him and came up into desolate and wild forest regions. Here the road was bad, almost like a stony and burr-strewn path, with neither bridge nor plank to help them over brooklet and rivulet. The farther they rode, the colder it grew, and after a while ...
— Christmas in Legend and Story - A Book for Boys and Girls • Elva S. Smith
... and hardy 'neath helmet his harness bore under cleft of the cliffs: no coward's path! Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief, survivor of many a victory-field where foemen fought with furious clashings, an arch of stone; and within, a stream that broke from the barrow. The brooklet's wave was hot with fire. The hoard that way he never could hope unharmed to near, or endure those deeps, {33d} for the dragon's flame. Then let from his breast, for he burst with rage, the Weder-Geat prince a word outgo; stormed the stark-heart; stern went ringing ...
— Beowulf • Anonymous
... babbling brooklet wends its happy way Adown a rocky path across the plain. And goes a-galloping along in rain. In drought he stops and waits a lucky day, When clouds roll up and men and women pray, And withered is the corn and grasses and grain. The dust clings ...
— Some Broken Twigs • Clara M. Beede
... the brooklet; There were colours on the meadow— Gold and azure, green and purple, Emerald and bright carbuncle. Clear and pure he work'd the ether As with lapis-lazuli, And the mountains in the distance Stretching blue and far away— All so well, that I, ...
— Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 56, Number 348 • Various
... BROOK, OR BROOKLET. Streams of fresh or salt water, less than a rivulet, creeping through narrow and shallow passages. The clouds brook-up, when they draw together ...
— The Sailor's Word-Book • William Henry Smyth
... The brooklet flung its ringlets wide, And leapt to him, and kept his pace,— Sang when he sang, and when he sighed, Turned up ...
— The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 4, No. 23, September, 1859 • Various
... brooklet, moaning slow Through moorish fen in utter loneliness! The partridge cowers beside thy loamy flow In pulseful tremor, when with sudden press The huntsman fluskers through the rustled heather. In March thy sallow buds from vermeil shells Break satin-tinted, downy as the feather Of moss-chat, ...
— The Principles of English Versification • Paull Franklin Baum
... the silence are hurrying by On the brooklet of Thought where I let them flow, And the "lilies nod to the sound of the stream" As I sail through the ...
— Threads of Grey and Gold • Myrtle Reed
... right that stood. Lies on the left, and nigh the wood; The paddock fenced with wall of stone, Wcll-stock'd with kine, a mile hath flown, The sheepfold and the herd are gone. Through channels new the brooklet rushes, Its ancient course conceal'd by bushes. Where the hollow was, a mound Rises from the upheaved ground. Doubting, shouting with surprise, How the fool stares, and rubs his eyes! All's so changed, the simple elf Fancies he is changed himself! Ho! ho! 'tis a merry sight The hag shall have when ...
— The Lancashire Witches - A Romance of Pendle Forest • William Harrison Ainsworth
... happy freedom possessed the little girl. A cloud of golden butterflies beckoned on before. Here a dark thread of water crept down over the hills and splashed musically into the great stone trough. All the way an invisible brooklet gurgled and kept her company. Only one bird seemed to sing at a time—first one, then another. Wasn't it charming? And at the end of it all must be—Tot could see it now in fancy—the fluttering blue ribbon uncurling between sunny sloping banks—SUGAR RIVER—fast asleep under the summer ...
— Connor Magan's Luck and Other Stories • M. T. W.
... the upland The vesper sparrow sings, And the brooklet in the pasture Still waves ...
— Our Friend John Burroughs • Clara Barrus
... eyes? I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly, And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof 10 Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet, scarce espied: 'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade ...
— Keats: Poems Published in 1820 • John Keats
... idea, of course, how long it took me to reach the limit of the plain, but at last I entered the foothills, following a pretty little canyon upward toward the mountains. Beside me frolicked a laughing brooklet, hurrying upon its noisy way down to the silent sea. In its quieter pools I discovered many small fish, of four-or five-pound weight I should imagine. In appearance, except as to size and color, they were not unlike the whale of our own seas. As I watched them playing about I discovered, not only ...
— At the Earth's Core • Edgar Rice Burroughs
... renewed discussion on longbow against crossbow; and Will Stuteley had become so interested in the matter as to have poked his little horse between the others. Robin trotted his steed to come up with them; then, suddenly spying a brooklet among the trees upon his left hand, found himself mightily athirst. He slipped from off the back of his grey jennet and tethered the ...
— Robin Hood • Paul Creswick
... hospitality of Don Symposio—not if he died for it. So he pervaded the romantic dells, and the sunless jungle was infected with the sound of his guitar. He rose in the morning and laved him in the limpid brooklet; and the beams of the noonday sun fell upon him in the ...
— Cobwebs From an Empty Skull • Ambrose Bierce (AKA: Dod Grile)
... cot at Estanquet, Down by a leafy brooklet, The limpid stream Enshadowed sheen, Lapped o'er the pebbles murmuring. Last summer sat a maid, with gathered flowers, She was engaged in setting, Within her grassy bowers; She sang in joy her notes so thrilling, As made the birds, their sweet ...
— Jasmin: Barber, Poet, Philanthropist • Samuel Smiles
... torpid brooklet, That to the night-gleaming moon Flashed in turn the frozen glances, Melts ...
— The Shaving of Shagpat • George Meredith
... difficulties come in our path. Geologists nowadays distrust, for the most part, theories which have to invoke great forces in order to mould the face of a country. They tell us that the valley, with its deep sides and wide opening to the sky, may have been made by the slow operation of a tiny brooklet that trickles now down at its base, and by erosion of the atmosphere. So we shape ourselves—and that is a great thing—by the way we do ...
— Expositions Of Holy Scripture - Volume I: St. Luke, Chaps. I to XII • Alexander Maclaren
... sprinkling of buttercups. She was clad in a dress of snowy white, which the wind swept before her as she walked; and it had stolen one strand of her golden hair to toss about and play with. She came with all the eagerness and spring of the brooklet that danced beside her, her cheeks glowing with health and filled with the laughter of the morning. Surely, of all the flowers of the May-time there is none so fair as the maiden. And the young man thought as he stood ...
— King Midas • Upton Sinclair
... the cooing brooklet runs in tune: Half sunk i' th' blue, the powdery moon Shows whitely. Hark, the bobolink's note! I hear it, Far and faint as a fairy spirit! Yet all these pass, and as some blithe bird, winging, Leaves a heart-ache for his singing, A frustrate passion haunts me evermore ...
— Rose and Roof-Tree - Poems • George Parsons Lathrop
... "Wild brooklet," I cried, as my thoughts rushed into words, "fret on, our lot is no longer the same; your wanderings and your murmurs are wasted in solitude and shade; your voice dies and re-awakes, but without an echo; your waves spread around their ...
— Devereux, Complete • Edward Bulwer-Lytton
... toiling By the swift Powow, With the summer sunshine falling On thy heated brow, Listen, while all else is still, To the brooklet from ...
— The Complete Works of Whittier - The Standard Library Edition with a linked Index • John Greenleaf Whittier
... and purposeless thought, from which she did not strive to disengage herself. She ceased to pursue the direct path back to Charlemont, the moment she had persuaded herself that the strangers had continued on their way; and turning from the beaten track, she strolled aside, following the route of a brooklet, the windings of which, as it led her forward, were completely hidden from the intrusive glance of any casual wayfarer. The prattle of the little stream as it wound upon its sleepless journey, contributed still more to ...
— Charlemont • W. Gilmore Simms
... Midsummer, when the hay was down, Stood she by the brooklet, young and very fair, With the first white bindweed twisted in her hair— Hair that drooped like birch-boughs, all in her simple gown— That eve in high Midsummer, when the hay ...
— The Home Book of Verse, Vol. 2 (of 4) • Various |
