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!