Millstream
© Millstream MMXIX

The Mill Stream by Juliana Horatia Ewing

One of a hundred little rills— Born in the hills, Nourished with dews by the earth, and with tears by the sky, Sang—"Who so mighty as I? The farther I flow The bigger I grow. I, who was born but a little rill, Now turn the big wheel of the mill, Though the surly slave would rather stand still. Old, and weed-hung, and grim, I am not afraid of him; For when I come running and dance on his toes, With a creak and a groan the monster goes. And turns faster and faster, As he learns who is master, Round and round, Till the corn is ground, And the miller smiles as he stands on the bank, And knows he has me to thank. Then when he swings the fine sacks of flour, I feel my power; But when the children enjoy their food, I know I'm not only great but good!" Furthermore sang the brook— "Who loves the beautiful, let him look! Garlanding me in shady spots The Forget-me-nots Are blue as the summer sky: Who so lovely as I? My King-cups of gold Shine from the shade of the alders old, Stars of the stream!— At the water-rat's threshold they gleam. From below The Frog-bit spreads me its blossoms of snow, And in masses The Willow-herb, the flags, and the grasses, Reeds, rushes, and sedges, Flower and fringe and feather my edges. To be beautiful is not amiss, But to be loved is more than this.”
Millstream
© Millstream MMXIX

The Mill Stream by Juliana Horatia

Ewing

One of a hundred little rills— Born in the hills, Nourished with dews by the earth, and with tears by the sky, Sang—"Who so mighty as I? The farther I flow The bigger I grow. I, who was born but a little rill, Now turn the big wheel of the mill, Though the surly slave would rather stand still. Old, and weed-hung, and grim, I am not afraid of him; For when I come running and dance on his toes, With a creak and a groan the monster goes. And turns faster and faster, As he learns who is master, Round and round, Till the corn is ground, And the miller smiles as he stands on the bank, And knows he has me to thank. Then when he swings the fine sacks of flour, I feel my power; But when the children enjoy their food, I know I'm not only great but good!" Furthermore sang the brook— "Who loves the beautiful, let him look! Garlanding me in shady spots The Forget-me-nots Are blue as the summer sky: Who so lovely as I? My King-cups of gold Shine from the shade of the alders old, Stars of the stream!— At the water-rat's threshold they gleam. From below The Frog-bit spreads me its blossoms of snow, And in masses The Willow-herb, the flags, and the grasses, Reeds, rushes, and sedges, Flower and fringe and feather my edges. To be beautiful is not amiss, But to be loved is more than this.”