But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh on his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course. (Two Gentlemen of Verona.)
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?