The Portland daily press., 1874-05-25

The roar came up in misty cloak ,,,s svan's down
Whose skirt was trimmed with 'ne e""
foam, "a ,rau
Beside the mill with its window,,d wall
OF rusty red as it loomed 50 si 1sai, dim room
The wheel was still in its dank' i M .mnta u,o
The air as whist as wreath Oh sniohe, ~
The tangled light through the eoDweGs e te
The mill was as dumb as heather-beh!
iri,a ,Justy miller was leaning o er
11e lower half of the battered door,
1hnking the things he atecays thought,
railing the grists no man had brought,
ronnting the dreams that came to nought
He saw four butterflies winged in white
That futtered over the wayside peol,
They looked like bits of an old oye-note
To Lucy Jones, and the first he wrote
But never sent to the Flower of the school
ssWhat il he had?" and "Perhaps she mightr'
He saw four butterflies wingd in gold
And thought Of what things the perhaps might
fold
woman's foot on the powdered sill
With arch enough for running rill,
To walk his world and-he thought again
How blossoms show in the route OF rain,
Make summer time till the first snow faii.
Perhaps and Might! How they puzzle all!
jogging along horse came slow,
Boy was aloft and bag below,
Calliper legs and head OF tow'
The miller starts from the faded dream,
A lever creaks and he lifts the gate,
The rambling flood in the ff0thy hume
Is rolling through to the twilight room
In whirls and swirls at reckless rate
The rustic strength Of the headlong stream,
A storm Of rain in the chamber dim
mighty swing of giant limb!
The Wheel is Washing his naked aims!
The mill is alive with the strange alarms!
A lazy log has just turned over,
The mill is full of Thousand things,
They tramp with feet and they hum with wings
A troop has halted awhile to feed,
Old Pan has come with his drowsy reed.
Harki Bees abroad from field of clover!
A flock of grouse with frightened whirr
Scotch brigade with a Twesdside burr!
Two wheels lay hold with their iron teeth
And turn shaft that is hung beneath,
With jumbng thump of the tumbling bolt
Like the awkward trot of barefoot colt.
In swaying glide are the leathen bands;
The hoppers jar with their Ialsied hands,
In rafting showers like frozen rain,
While face to face with its gritty mate
The milestone whirls with grinding CRATE.
What might be laid in a castles wall
Is twirled as light as parasol
And out from the rock, as once OF old,
streamIet flows in its white gold!
Busy as bees when the buckwheat blows
Are the little buckets that run in rows
Up stairs and down with sparrow's weight,
With tiny drift Of the dainty freight.
The place Is thrilled with rumbling tread,
The air is gray with the ghost of bread!
Dizzy and busy, above, below,
Lydian river and doweTy flow
Corn IN the gold and wheat in the snow.
The old gray mill is yet murmuring on,
The brook brawls down through the limestone street
The girls that blossomed around the door
And hid and sought till the grst-snowed floor
Was printed off with their merry feet
Like notes of music-the girls are gone!
The miller said that he always heard
The slender song OF the outside bird
Through the grumbng roll of the whirng mill,
He never heard when the wheels were still.
Perhaps-why not?-through the anthem grand
He helps to chant in the Better Land,
The mills old murmuring monotone q
May now steal up to his ear alone,
Bringing a breath of the Savors Prayer
Droning the bass to the angels air
Hmm Of the Mill in the golden choir
-Scribper,s for ,Tuue