Above a green vale where a paper mill played;
And he hovered in ether, delightedly noting
The whirl and the splash that the water-wheel made.
The air was all filled with the scent of the roses,
Round the miller's veranda that clustered and twined;
And he thought if the sky were all made up of noses,
This spot of the earth would be most to its mind.
And forth came the miller, a Quaker in verity,
Rigid of limb and complacent of face,
And behind him a Scotchman was singing 'Prosperity,'