The mill by the stream, gleaming with lily-buds,
Has seen centuries move through the seasons.
Surrounded by oaks and willows, the blood
Of honest labour vibrates in its wheels
Which keep on turning so devoutly
Through these miasmal, modern mists. Swallows
And butterflies still thrive. O rare beauty
Resides there; where one just watches time flow!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem