No End of No-Story

There is a riverwhose waters run asleeprun run eversinging in the shallowsdumb in the hollowssleeping so deepand all the swallowsthat dip their feathersin the hollowsor in the shallowsare the merriest swallowsand the nests they makewith the clay they cakewith the water they shakefrom their wings that rakethe water out of the shallowsor out of the hollowswill hold togetherin any weatherand the swallowsare the merriest fellowsand have the merriest childrenand are built very narrowlike the head of an arrowto cut the airand go just wherethe nicest water is flowingand the nicest dust is blowingand each so narrowlike the head of an arrowis a wonderful barrowto carry the mud he makesfor his children's sakesfrom the wet water flowingand the dry dust blowingto build his nestfor her he loves bestand the wind cakes itthe sun bakes itinto a nestfor the restof her he loves bestand all their merry childreneach little fellowwith a beak as yellowas the buttercups growingbeside the flowingof the singing riveralways and evergrowing and blowingas fast as the sheepawake or asleepcrop them and cropand cannot stoptheir yellowness blowingnor yet the growingof the obstinate daisiesthe little white praisesthey grow and they blowthey spread out their crownand they praise the sunand when he goes downtheir praising is donethey fold up their crownand sleep every onetill over the plainhe is shining amainand they're at it againpraising and praisingsuch low songs raisingthat no one can hear thembut the sun so near themand the sheep that bite thembut do not fright themare the quietest sheepawake or asleepwith the merriest bleatand the little lambsare the merriest lambsforgetting to eatfor the frolic in their feetand the lambs and their damsare the whitest sheepwith the woolliest woolfor the swallow to pullwhen he makes his nestfor her he loves bestand they shine like snowin the grasses that growby the singing riverthat sings for everand the sheep and the lambsare merry for everbecause the riversings and they drink itand the lambs and their damswould any one think itare bright and whitebecause of their dietwhich gladdens them quietfor what they biteis buttercups yellowand daisies whiteand grass as greenas the river can make itwith wind as mellowto kiss it and shake itas never was knownbut here in the hollowsbeside the riverwhere all the swallowsare the merriest fellowsand the nests they makewith the clay they cakein the sunshine baketill they are like boneand as dry in the windas a marble stonedried in the windthe sweetest windthat blows by the riverflowing for everand who shall findwhence comes the windthat blows on the hollowsand over the shallowswhere dip the swallowsand comes and goesand the sweet life blowsinto the riverthat sings as it flowsand the sweet life blowsinto the sheepawake or asleepwith the woolliest wooland the trailingest tailsand never failsgentle and coolto wave the wooland to toss the grassas the lambs and the sheepover it passand tug and bitewith their teeth so whiteand then with the sweepof their trailing tailssmooth it againand it grows amainand amain it growsand the wind that blowstosses the swallowsover the hollowsand over the shallowsand blows the sweet lifeand the joy so rifeinto the swallowsthat skim the shallowsand have the yellowest childrenand the wind that blowsis the life of the riverthat flows for everand washes the grassesstill as it passesand feeds the daisiesthe little white praisesand buttercups sunnywith butter and honeythat whiten the sheepawake or asleepthat nibble and biteand grow whiter than whiteand merry and quieton such good dietwatered by the riverand tossed for everby the wind that tossesthe wool and the grassesand the swallow that crosseswith all the swallowsover the shallowsdipping their wingsto gather the waterand bake the cakefor the wind to makeas hard as a boneand as dry as a stoneand who shall findwhence comes the windthat blows from behindand ripples the riverthat flows for everand still as it passeswaves the grassesand cools the daisiesthe white sun praisesthat feed the sheepawake or asleepand give them their woolfor the swallows to pulla little awayto mix with the claythat cakes to a nestfor those they love bestand all the yellow childrensoon to go tryingtheir wings at the flyingover the hollowsand over the shallowswith all the swallowsthat do not knowwhence the wind doth blowthat comes from behinda blowing wind.