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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409532" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mad River, In The White Mountains</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">TRAVELLER<br>Why dost thou wildly rush and roar,<br>Mad River, O Mad River?<br>Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour<br>Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er<br>This rocky shelf forever? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What secret trouble stirs thy breast?<br>Why all this fret and flurry?<br>Dost thou not know that what is best<br>In this too restless world is rest<br>From over-work and worry? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE RIVER<br>What wouldst thou in these mountains seek,<br>O stranger from the city?<br>Is it perhaps some foolish freak<br>Of thine, to put the words I speak<br>Into a plaintive ditty? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">TRAVELLER<br>Yes; I would learn of thee thy song,<br>With all its flowing numbers,<br>And in a voice as fresh and strong<br>As thine is, sing it all day long,<br>And hear it in my slumbers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE RIVER<br>A brooklet nameless and unknown<br>Was I at first, resembling<br>A little child, that all alone<br>Comes venturing down the stairs of stone,<br>Irresolute and trembling. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Later, by wayward fancies led,<br>For the wide world I panted;<br>Out of the forest dark and dread<br>Across the open fields I fled,<br>Like one pursued and haunted. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tossed my arms, I sang aloud,<br>My voice exultant blending<br>With thunder from the passing cloud,<br>The wind, the forest bent and bowed,<br>The rush of rain descending. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I heard the distant ocean call,<br>Imploring and entreating;<br>Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall<br>I plunged, and the loud waterfall<br>Made answer to the greeting. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now, beset with many ills,<br>A toilsome life I follow;<br>Compelled to carry from the hills<br>These logs to the impatient mills<br>Below there in the hollow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet something ever cheers and charms<br>The rudeness of my labors;<br>Daily I water with these arms<br>The cattle of a hundred farms,<br>And have the birds for neighbors. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men call me Mad, and well they may,<br>When, full of rage and trouble,<br>I burst my banks of sand and clay,<br>And sweep their wooden bridge away,<br>Like withered reeds or stubble. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now go and write thy little rhyme,<br>As of thine own creating.<br>Thou seest the day is past its prime;<br>I can no longer waste my time;<br>The mills are tired of waiting.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409532" data-title="Mad River, In The White Mountains de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="TRAVELLER
Why dost thou wildly rush and roar,
Mad River, O Mad River?
Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour
Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er
This rocky shelf forever? 

What secret trouble stirs thy breast?
Why all this fret and flurry?
Dost tho..."></div>
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