Behold! a giant am I! <br />Aloft here in my tower, <br />With my granite jaws I devour <br />The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, <br />And grind them into flour. <br /> <br />I look down over the farms; <br />In the fields of grain I see <br />The harvest that is to be, <br />And I fling to the air my arms, <br />For I know it is all for me. <br /> <br />I hear the sound of flails <br />Far off, from the threshing-floors <br />In barns, with their open doors, <br />And the wind, the wind in my sails, <br />Louder and louder roars. <br /> <br />I stand here in my place, <br />With my foot on the rock below, <br />And whichever way it may blow, <br />I meet it face to face, <br />As a brave man meets his foe. <br /> <br />And while we wrestle and strive, <br />My master, the miller, stands <br />And feeds me with his hands; <br />For he knows who makes him thrive, <br />Who makes him lord of lands. <br /> <br />On Sundays I take my rest; <br />Church-going bells begin <br />Their low, melodious din; <br />I cross my arms on my breast, <br />And all is peace within.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ultima-thule-the-windmill/
