Explore "The Windmill" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.
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.