THE BURNING OF THE TURNER MILL
83
No structure supersedeth Where flow these waters free;—Tho' none can e'er determine What may in future be.
Yet now, as rubious sunset In splendor gilds the waves; And sweet, naiadic music Is wafting from the caves—
Oft in disconsolation The zephyrs whisper still This tragic tale:—relating, The burning of the mill.
