Concealed on the edge of a sunlit pool, <br />An old mill performs its daily chore, <br />Its wheel rotating like an enormous spool, <br />Water churning with a clamorous roar <br />Into the river, that passes by, <br />Where swans and ducks move with no rush. <br />The insect and the butterfly, <br />Play gaily in this gentle hush. <br /> <br />The rhythmic turning of this wheel, <br />Is so mesmeric in its song, <br />And so a drowsy spell you feel, <br />As one sweet afternoon is gone. <br />The bees they hum, the birds declare, <br />And all is calm, and peace prevails, <br />And one becomes highly aware, <br />Of a host of fluttering swallowtails.<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-gentle-hush/
