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The Ruined Mill

Julius Karl Reinhold Sturm

The moon is newly risen,
I wander through the vale;
My dreaming eyes are spell-bound
By radiance sad and pale.

Behind the mill she rises;
I watch her silver shield,
And in my heart burst open
The wounds I thought were healed.

Long since, the wheels have mouldered,
And roof and door are gone;
Babbling of days departed
The glittering stream flows on.

The moon has sunk in darkness,
The wind is blowing cold;
Dead is the miller's daughter,
And I am grey and old.

Translated by Constance Naden.

Home :: Poetry :: Sorrow and Sadness (5) :: The Ruined Mill

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