Keepsake Mill

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.