THE green corn waving in the dale, The ripe grass waving on the hill: I lean across the paddock pale And gaze upon the giddy mill. Its hurtling sails a mighty sweep Cut thro' the air: with rushing sound Each strikes in fury down the steep, Rattles, and whirls in chase around. Beside his sacks the miller stands On high within the open door: A book and pencil in his hands, His grist and meal he reckoneth o'er. His tireless merry slave the wind Is busy with his work to-day: From whencesoe'er he comes to grind; He hath a will and knows the way. He gives the creaking sails a spin, The circling millstones faster flee, The shuddering timbers groan within, And down the shoots the meal runs free. The miller giveth him no thanks, And doth not much his work o'erlook: He stands beside the sacks, and ranks The figures in his dusty book. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CRITIC AND POET by EMMA LAZARUS STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR A BALLAD OF WHITECHAPEL by ISAAC ROSENBERG YOUTH'S IMMORTALITY by GEORGE SANTAYANA SURFACE AND STRUCTURE: BONAVENTURE HOTEL, LOS ANGELES by KAREN SWENSON |