Wednesday, November 3, 2010

the meadow-sweet

in silence mole rowed steadily, and soon they came to a point where the river divided, a long backwater branching off to one side. with a slight movement of his head rat, who had long dropped the rudder-lines, directed the rower to take the backwater. the creeping tide of light gained and gained, and now they could see the colour of the flowers that gemmed the water's edge.
"clearer and nearer still," cried the rat joyously. "now you must surely hear it! ah - at last - i see you do!"
breathless and transfixed the mole stopped rowing as the liquid run of that glad piping broke on him like a wave, caught him up, and possessed him utterly. he saw the tears on his comrade's cheeks, and bowed his head and understood. for a space they hung there, brushed by the purple loose-strife that fringed the bank; then the clear imperious summons that marched hand-in-hand with the intoxicating melody imposed its will on mole, and mechanically he bent to his oars again. and the light grew steadily stronger, but no birds sang, as they were wont to do at the approach of dawn; and but for the heavenly music all was marvelously still.
-the wind in the willows

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