Youth

The mill thou seekest in a mood

Contented,
And know’st not how my youthful blood

‘S tormented.
But doth the miller’s daughter fair
Gaze often on thee kindly there?

Millstream

She opes the shutters soon as light

Is gleaming;
And comes to bathe her features bright

And beaming.
So full and snow-white is her breast,—
I feel as hot as steam suppress’d.