
A windmill describes grinding maize, wheat, and rye, watching the coming harvest, and facing the wind while its miller feeds it grain. On Sundays it rests with its arms crossed as church bells sound.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow · Genre: Poetry, Personification · 283 words
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 of grain 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.
windmills · grain milling · wind · harvest · Sunday rest · personification
The Windmill is listed on Textopian as a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, dated Date unknown.
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