  NOW, who will live in the windmill, who, With the powdery miller-man? The miller is one, but who’ll make two, To share his loaf and can? “O, I will live with the miller, I! To grind the corn is grand; The great black sails go up on high, And come down to the land!” Now who will be the miller’s bride? The miller’s in haste to wed A girl in her pride, with a sash at her side, A girl with a curly head! “O, I will be the miller’s wife; The dust is all my joy; To live in a windmill all my life Would be a sweet employ!” Then spake the goblin of the sails (You heard, but could not see), “The wickedest man of the hills and dales, The miller-man is he! “None ever dwelt in the mill before But died by the miller’s steel; The whiskered rats lap up their gore, He grinds their bones to meal!” O gossiping goblin, my dreams will be bad, You tell such dreadful tales! O mill, how secret you seem! how mad, How wicked you look, black sails! |
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