Explore "Poems" by Elinor Jenkins on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The poor proud mother in the sad old tale, / That wept her lovely children's loss in vain / Gre w one with her own tears' most bitter rain; / The immortal Gods that spared not for her wail / Then made from out her grief's eternal flow / A never-failing fountain, at whose brink / Wayfaring men oft stooped them down to drink / And blessed those Gods, whose envy wrought her woe.
So may these bitter springs with years grow sweet, / And welling ever upward full and strong, / As when from many a broken heart they burst, / Stay not for frost nor fail for summer heat, / But make fair pools life's desert way along / Where unborn generations slake their thirst.