The Brook Rhine

Small current of the wilds afar from men,
Changing and sudden as a baby`s mood;
Now a green babbling rivulet in the wood,
Now loitering broad and shallow through the glen,
Or threading `mid the naked shoals, and then
Brattling against the stones, half mist, half flood,
Between the mountains where the storm-clouds brood;
And each change but to wake or sleep again;
Pass on, young stream, the world has need of thee;
Far hence a mighty river on its breast
Bears the deep-laden vessels to the sea;
Far hence wide waters feed the vines and corn.
Pass on, small stream, to so great purpose born,
On to the distant toil, the distant rest.

(Augusta Davies Webster)


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