<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507662" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Keepsake Mill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over the borders, a sin without pardon, <br>Breaking the branches and crawling below, <br>Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, <br>Down by the banks of the river we go. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here is a mill with the humming of thunder, <br>Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, <br>Here is the sluice with the race running under-- <br>Marvellous places, though handy to home! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, <br>Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; <br>Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller, <br>Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Years may go by, and the wheel in the river <br>Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day, <br>Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever <br>Long after all of the boys are away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Home for the Indies and home from the ocean, <br>Heroes and soldiers we all will come home; <br>Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, <br>Turning and churning that river to foam. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, <br>I with your marble of Saturday last, <br>Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, <br>Here we shall meet and remember the past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Louis+Stevenson">Robert Louis Stevenson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507662" data-title="Keepsake Mill de Robert Louis Stevenson" data-description="Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river we go. Here is a mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the w..."></div> </div> </div>

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