Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river we go. Here is a mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under -- Marvellous places, though handy to home! Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, Stiller the note of the bo-day, Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever Long after all of the boys are away. Home for the Indies and home from the ocean, Heroes and soldiers we all will come home; Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, Turning and churning that river to foam. You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, Here we shall meet and remember the past. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEFENSE OF THE ALAMO [MARCH 6, 1835] by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER MOTHER HEART by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER PSALM 119 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE LADY UNKNOWN by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK THE LAST MAN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE WHERE IS ARCADY? by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |