<h3> <SPAN name="mill"></SPAN> The Mill<br/> </h3>
<p>The miller's wife had waited long,<br/>
The tea was cold, the fire was dead;<br/>
And there might yet be nothing wrong<br/>
In how he went and what he said:<br/>
"There are no millers any more,"<br/>
Was all that she had heard him say;<br/>
And he had lingered at the door<br/>
So long that it seemed yesterday.<br/></p>
<p>Sick with a fear that had no form<br/>
She knew that she was there at last;<br/>
And in the mill there was a warm<br/>
And mealy fragrance of the past.<br/>
What else there was would only seem<br/>
To say again what he had meant;<br/>
And what was hanging from a beam<br/>
Would not have heeded where she went.<br/></p>
<p>And if she thought it followed her,<br/>
She may have reasoned in the dark<br/>
That one way of the few there were<br/>
Would hide her and would leave no mark:<br/>
Black water, smooth above the weir<br/>
Like starry velvet in the night,<br/>
Though ruffled once, would soon appear<br/>
The same as ever to the sight.<br/></p>
<p><br/><br/><br/></p>
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