It was born in a desert; but it seemed to say to itself, "I will
flow, and sing, and lave my banks, till I make my desert a paradise."
I thought I could not do better than follow it, and see what it made
of it. So down with the stream I went, over rocky lands, burning with
sunbeams. But the rivulet flowed not far, before a few blades of
grass appeared on its banks, and then, here and there, a stunted bush.
Sometimes it disappeared altogether under ground; and after I had
wandered some distance, as near as I could guess, in the direction it
seemed to take, I would suddenly hear it again, singing, sometimes far
away to my right or left, amongst new rocks, over which it made new
cataracts of watery melodies. The verdure on its banks increased as it
flowed; other streams joined it; and at last, after many days' travel,
I found myself, one gorgeous summer evening, resting by the side of a
broad river, with a glorious horse-chestnut tree towering above me, and
dropping its blossoms, milk-white and rosy-red, all about me. As I sat,
a gush of joy sprang forth in my heart, and over flowed at my eyes.

Through my tears, the whole landscape glimmered in such bewildering
loveliness, that I felt as if I were entering Fairy Land for the first
time, and some loving hand were waiting to cool my head, and a loving
word to warm my heart. Roses, wild roses, everywhere! So plentiful were
they, they not only perfumed the air, they seemed to dye it a faint
rose-hue. The colour floated abroad with the scent, and clomb, and
spread, until the whole west blushed and glowed with the gathered
incense of roses. And my heart fainted with longing in my bosom.