| Keepsake Mill |
| Robert Louis Stevenson |
| 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 a mill with the humming of thunder,
Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under-- Marvellous 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 for the Indies and home from the ocean,
Heroes and soldiers we all will 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 quarrelled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, Here we shall meet and remember the past. |
 |
|
 |