The Mill In The Forest

A rendition in words of the musical idyl by Eilenberg.

While twittering songsters yet announce the morn
And all the wood is wondrous calm and still,
Upon the zephyr tremulous is borne
The waking rumble of the forest mill.
The great wheel moves; the foaming waters pour
On waiting sands in crystal melody;
The saw’s high treble and the pulley’s roar
Are mingled in a song of industry.
Now through the day the busy millwheel turns;
And through the day the saw untiring sings,
Nor rests till red and gold the sunset burns
And blaze and gilt on all the landscape flings.
But, as the orb of day slips down the west,
The waters turn to other ways more still;
The weary wheel at last subsides to rest
And peace comes down upon the silent mill.
A yellow moon arises o’er the trees,
The little stars, with eyes half-timid, peep;
Night brings her black and somber tapestries
And wraps the forest and the mill in sleep.