Not from the sands or cloven rocks, <br />Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow; <br />Nor earth, within her bosom, locks <br />Thy dark unfathomed wells below. <br />Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream <br />Begins to move and murmur first <br />Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam, <br />Or rain-storms on the glacier burst. <br /> <br />Born where the thunder and the blast, <br />And morning's earliest light are born, <br />Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast, <br />By these low homes, as if in scorn: <br />Yet humbler springs yield purer waves; <br />And brighter, glassier streams than thine, <br />Sent up from earth's unlighted caves, <br />With heaven's own beam and image shine. <br /> <br />Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees; <br />Warm rays on cottage roofs are here, <br />And laugh of girls, and hum of bees-- <br />Here linger till thy waves are clear. <br />Thou heedest not--thou hastest on; <br />From steep to steep thy torrent falls, <br />Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone, <br />It rests beneath Geneva's walls. <br /> <br />Rush on--but were there one with me <br />That loved me, I would light my hearth <br />Here, where with God's own majesty <br />Are touched the features of the earth. <br />By these old peaks, white, high, and vast, <br />Still rising as the tempests beat, <br />Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last, <br />Among the blossoms at their feet.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-river-arve/
