Poems (Probyn)/The mill-wheel
THE MILL-WHEEL.
"And shall you never come back?" she said,
Where she stood by his side in the porch roseècovered,—
Up in the jasmine over her head
A peacock butterfly poised and hovered.
And ever through hush of the languid noon,
They heard, like the beat of a ceaseless tune,
The mill-stream fretting, foaming, churning—
The mill-wheel plashing, droning, turning.
Where she stood by his side in the porch roseècovered,—
Up in the jasmine over her head
A peacock butterfly poised and hovered.
And ever through hush of the languid noon,
They heard, like the beat of a ceaseless tune,
The mill-stream fretting, foaming, churning—
The mill-wheel plashing, droning, turning.
He was her first, and her dear, dear lover,
As far removed as the sun above her;
Much she worshipped, and little knew,
With raptures many, and tears a few.
Ah, the change that his coming wrought her!
He found her merely a child at play—
She was only the miller's daughter—
Now it was time he should turn away,—
Time he should loose her tender hand,
Time she should tremble, and understand—
Would the soaring butterfly wing him down
To alight on the printed flowers of her gown?
As far removed as the sun above her;
Much she worshipped, and little knew,
With raptures many, and tears a few.
Ah, the change that his coming wrought her!
He found her merely a child at play—
She was only the miller's daughter—
Now it was time he should turn away,—
Time he should loose her tender hand,
Time she should tremble, and understand—
Would the soaring butterfly wing him down
To alight on the printed flowers of her gown?
"Shall you remember the afternoons
We have lived," he said, "by the stream together,
When the sweetness as of a hundred Junes
Seemed gathered up in the summer weather?
The day that it rained, and we chose to clamber
And shelter ourselves in the great mill chamber?
The talk we talked 'mid the bags of flour,
While we waited there for the end of the shower,
With up above us the roll of the thunder,
And the roar of the mill-wheel booming under?
The day that we walked through the soft hay-stubble,
Faint with the scent of the grasses dead?"
She lifted eyes of innocent trouble—
"Nay—how can I forget?" she said.
Not a sound in the hush they heard,
Not a breath through the silence stirred,
But the hum of the mill-wheel never stopping,
And the play of the water, dropping, dropping.
We have lived," he said, "by the stream together,
When the sweetness as of a hundred Junes
Seemed gathered up in the summer weather?
The day that it rained, and we chose to clamber
And shelter ourselves in the great mill chamber?
The talk we talked 'mid the bags of flour,
While we waited there for the end of the shower,
With up above us the roll of the thunder,
And the roar of the mill-wheel booming under?
The day that we walked through the soft hay-stubble,
Faint with the scent of the grasses dead?"
She lifted eyes of innocent trouble—
"Nay—how can I forget?" she said.
Not a sound in the hush they heard,
Not a breath through the silence stirred,
But the hum of the mill-wheel never stopping,
And the play of the water, dropping, dropping.
Ah, the things that his touch had taught her—
Like straws whirled by in the churning stream!
She was only the miller's daughter—
The noise of the mill-wheel drowned her dream.
She stood a minute, and sighed, and pondered—
The butterfly stirred, and fluttered onward—
The leaves of a jasmine star were shed—
"Shall you never come back—?" she said.
Like straws whirled by in the churning stream!
She was only the miller's daughter—
The noise of the mill-wheel drowned her dream.
She stood a minute, and sighed, and pondered—
The butterfly stirred, and fluttered onward—
The leaves of a jasmine star were shed—
"Shall you never come back—?" she said.