The brooklet fell from the crannied rock, Bubbling to the frightful sea. The ocean roared, then began to mock: Teardrop, what do you want of me? I am the tempest and the fear; At my bounds the heavens commence. Do you think to help me here, Puny, me that am immense? The spring replied to the bitter sea: Without bustle or glory I furnish the link That is lacking in all your vast entity— A drop of water good to drink. |