I. I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

While the waves, bickering so bright and sheen, Put you in mind of Avon, Rhine, or Hellespont, Or any other stream to admire you're wont.

It would break up many loveless homes, quarrelling and bickering homes, and give a safety-valve for that hate which is the sinister shadow of love.