THE MILL.
The wheel goes round—the wheel goes round
With drip and whir and plash,
It keeps all green the grassy ground,
The alder, beech and ash.
The ferns creep out 'mid mosses cool,
Forget-me-nots are found
Blue in the shadow by the pool—
And still the wheel goes round.
Round goes the wheel, round goes the wheel,
The foam is white like cream,
The merry waters dance and reel
Along the stony stream.
The little garden of the mill,
It is enchanted ground,
I smell its stocks and wall-flowers still,
And still the wheel goes round.
The wheel goes round, the wheel goes round,
And life's wheel too must go—
But all their clamour has not drowned
A voice I used to know.
Her window's blank. The garden's bare
As her chill new-made mound,
But still my heart's delight is there,
And still the wheel goes round.