Classic Poem

A down in yon cool valley
I hear a mill-wheel go:
Alas! my love has left me,
Who once dwelt there below.

A ring of gold she gave me,
And vowed she would be true;
The vow long since was broken,
The gold ring snapped in two.

I would I were a minstrel,
To rove the wide world o'er,
And sing afar my measures,
And rove from door to door;

Or else a soldier, flying
Deep into furious fight,
By silent camp-fires lying
A-field in gloomy night.

Hear I the mill-wheel going:
I know not what I will;
'Twere best if I were dying —
Then all were calm and still.