Here you will find the Poem Ultima Thule: The Windmill of poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Behold! a giant am I! Aloft here in my tower, With my granite jaws I devour The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, And grind them into flour. I look down over the farms; In the fields of grain I see The harvest that is to be, And I fling to the air my arms, For I know it is all for me. I hear the sound of flails Far off, from the threshing-floors In barns, with their open doors, And the wind, the wind in my sails, Louder and louder roars. I stand here in my place, With my foot on the rock below, And whichever way it may blow, I meet it face to face, As a brave man meets his foe. And while we wrestle and strive, My master, the miller, stands And feeds me with his hands; For he knows who makes him thrive, Who makes him lord of lands. On Sundays I take my rest; Church-going bells begin Their low, melodious din; I cross my arms on my breast, And all is peace within.
