Explore "Keepsake Mill" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Over the borders, a sin without pardon, / Breaking the branches and crawling below, / Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, / Down by the banks of the river, we go.
Here is the mill with the humming of thunder, / Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, / Here is the sluice with the race running under -- / Marvelous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, / Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; / Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller, / Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river / Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day.
Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever / Long after all of the boys are away.
Home from the Indies and home from the ocean, / Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home; / Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, / Turning and churning that river to foam.
You with the bean that I gave when we quarreled, / I with your marble of Saturday last, / Honored and old and all gaily apparelled, / Here we shall meet and remember the past.