Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MILL, by EMILE VERHAEREN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MILL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Slowly in the depths of the night the windmill turns
Last Line: The old mill that turns and, weary, turns, and dies.
Subject(s): Old Age; Windmills


Slowly in the depths of the night the windmill turns.
Under a somber, melancholy sky
It turns and turns, and its wind-burnt canvas moans
A sad and worn and heavy lullaby.

Since the dawn its arms, like arms in supplication,
Have stretched out and have fallen, and they will
Fall on and on across the darkened air
And weary nature slumbering now and still.

A cheerless winter night broods over the hamlet,
The weary clouds are restless overhead;
And along the thickets that gather up their shadows,
The pathways point a horizon that is dead.

Under a rim of earth, a few beechen shanties
Wretchedly huddle in a miserable round;
A brass lamp that is hanging from the ceiling
Speckles with light the window and the ground.

And across the wide field, and the slumbering void
They hold—puny hovels—with the blinking eyes
Of their broken panes with the ragged curtain,
The old mill that turns and, weary, turns, and dies.





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