Ye Jolly Miller

There was a jolly miller once
Lived on the river Dee;
He worked and sang from morn till night,
No lark more blithe than he.
And this the burden of his song
For ever used to be,
"I care for nobody, no, not I,
And nobody cares for me."

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

An Alphabet Of Old Friends.

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Baa! Baa! Black Sheep

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Looby Light

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Ass & The Sick Lion

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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Nursery Rhyme. CLXVI. Songs.

    There was a jolly miller
        Lived on the river Dee:
    He worked and sung from morn till night,
        No lark so blithe as he,
    And this the burden of his song
        For ever used to be -
    I jump mejerrime jee!
        I care for nobody - no! not I,
    Since nobody cares for me.

Unknown

The Jolly Miller

[Restored Romaunt.]

It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee;
He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:
"O Mr. Flea! you have bit' me,
    And you shall shorely die!"
So he scrunched his bones against the stones -
    And there he let him lie!

Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told his wife,
And she laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her carvin'-knife! -
"O Mr. Flea!" "Ho-ho!" "Tee-hee!"
    They both laughed fit to kill,
Until the sound did almost drownd
    The rumble of the mill!

"Laugh on, my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller, too! -
But there's a weeping-willer will soon wave over you!"
The voice was all so awful small -
    So very small and slim! -
He durst' infer that it was her,
...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Miller And His Son

A twangling harp for Mary,
    A silvery flute for John,
And now we'll play the livelong day,
    'The Miller and his Son.'

'The Miller went a-walking
    All in the forest high,
He sees three doves a-flitting
    Against the dark blue sky:

'Says he, "My son, now follow
    These doves so white and free,
That cry above the forest,
    And surely cry to thee."

"I go, my dearest Father,
    But O! I sadly fear,
These doves so white will lead me far,
    But never bring me near."

'He kisses the Miller,
    He cries, "Awhoop to ye!"
And straightway through the forest
    Follows the wood-doves three.

'There came a sound of weeping
    To the Miller in his Mill;
Red roses in a thicket
    Bloomed over...

Walter De La Mare

The Miller By The Shore. An East Coast Chanty

The miller by the shore am I,
    A man o' despert sense;
I've fotty different soorts o' ways
    O' addlin' honest pence.
Good wheat and wuts and barley-corns
    My mill grinds all t' day lang ;
Frae faave 'o t' morn while seven o' t' neet
    My days are varra thrang.

Chorus
I mill a bit, I till a bit,
    I dee all maks 'o jobs,
Frae followin' ploos and hollowin' coos
    To mendin' chairs and squabs.(1)
Oh! folks they laugh and girn at me,
    I niver tak it ill;
If I's the Jack 'o ivery trade,
    They all bring grist to t' mill.

I tend my hunderd yakker farm,
    An' milk my Kyloe kye.
I've Lincoln yowes an' Leicester tups
    An' twenty head 'o wye.(2)
I've stirks to tak to Scarbro' mart,
    I've meers for far...

Frederic William Moorman

At The Mill.

    The water-wheel goes 'round and 'round
    With heavy sighs of mournful sound,
    While dismal cries and weary moans
    Unite with sad and tearful groans,
    And weeping waves of water throw
        Afar the echoes of their sadness,
    And cadences of plaintive woe
        Dispel each little note of gladness.

    My daily life goes 'round and 'round,
    And rest for me is never found;
    The sobbing dirges of distress
    Are more than songs of happiness;
    The shadows of despairing doom
        Condemn to-day and curse to-morrow,
    And muffled terrors fill the gloom
        Which offers anguish to my sorrow.

    But hope, O, heart, for future weal!
    The waters rest beyond the wheel;
    So life may sing when toil is done...

Freeman Edwin Miller

My Mollie, O!

    'Twas in the summer's sweet perfume,
        When roses bloomed and holly, O,
    That in the brightness of her bloom,
        I first did meet my Mollie, O.

    Although she said for lives to love
        Was nothing but pure folly, O,
    My heart was lit with light above,
        And I true loved my Mollie, O.

    O, swift and fast the days did flee
        And seemed most bright and jolly, O,
    For evermore was near to me
        My fair and lovely Mollie, O.

    Now I doth sit through all the day
        And nurse my melancholy, O,
    For from me she has turned away,
        O, false and fickle Mollie, O!

Freeman Edwin Miller