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The Windmill
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
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www.sussexmillsgroup.org.uk |
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Behold ! A giant am I ! Aloft here in my tower.
With my granite jaws I devour
the maize, and the wheat, and the rye
and grind them into flour.
I look down over the farms;
in the fields I see
the harvest that is to be
and I fling to the air my arms
for I know it is all for me.
I hear the sound of flails
far off, from the threshing-floors
in barns, with their open doors
and the wind, the wind in my sails,
louder and louder roars.
I stand here in my place
with my foot on the rock below
and whichever way it may blow
I meet it face to face
as a brave man meets his foe.
And while we wrestle and strive
my master, the miller, stands
and feeds me with his hands
for he knows who makes him thrive
who makes him lord of lands.
On Sundays I take my rest,
church-going bells begin
their low, melodious din.
I cross my arms on my breast
and all is peace within.
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www.sussexmillsgroup.org.uk |
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