By the Old Mill
A picture in the wilderness of waste,
The old mill stands, untenanted and still;
No life about the doors and fallen wheel,
No cottage on the hill.
And yet to-day, as by the stream I stood,
Which through the busy years has constant been,
The meadow daisies bloomed as fresh and sweet
As then, Sweetheart, as then.
"As then!" You must recall the day
When we the daisies plucked beside the stream;
The day we pledged our heart and hand, which still
Makes life's sweet dream.
For, Sweetheart dear, the moss may cover green
The fallen wheel and Winters follow May,
But love that woke for us beside the mill
Knows no decay.
