| THE MILLER’S wife had waited long, | |
| The tea was cold, the fire was dead; | |
| And there might yet be nothing wrong | |
| In how he went and what he said: | |
| “There are no millers any more,” | 5 |
| Was all that she heard him say; | |
| And he had lingered at the door | |
| So long that it seemed yesterday. | |
| |
| Sick with a fear that had no form | |
| She knew that she was there at last; | 10 |
| And in the mill there was a warm | |
| And mealy fragrance of the past. | |
| What else there was would only seem | |
| To say again what he had meant; | |
| And what was hanging from a beam | 15 |
| Would not have heeded where she went. | |
| |
| And if she thought it followed her, | |
| She may have reasoned in the dark | |
| That one way of the few there were | |
| Would hide her and would leave no mark: | 20 |
| Black water, smooth above the weir | |
| Like starry velvet in the night, | |
| Though ruffled once, would soon appear | |
| The same as ever to the sight. | |
