Explore "Sweet Hours" by Carmen Sylva on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
From whence the brook? From where the waters gather / In mountains' deep recesses, stone-black lakes / And dripping crevices. It ripples forth / Into the shining day with scarce a voice, / And with no strength at all, till mountain showers / And winter's snow and spring storms pour their flood / Into the dancing brook, that foams and starts / And rushes headlong down the steeps and throws / Into the Unknown all its youth and strength, / And thunders into hell, to rise again / In sheets of whiteness into dreamy veils, / To kiss the flowers' feet and overflow / The meadows; thence, o'erbridged and caught and fastened / To wheels, to grind and grind with irksome noise, / To lose all liberty, all winsome frolic, / And work till doomsday. On and on the stream / Goes widening into calm and mighty strength, / A hero of a stream, that bears the ships / Like toys, and carries legions.
Wider still / He grows, and stronger, as he drags the waters / Of hundred rivers with him to the sea.