Le Moulin [the windmill]

When at dusk the wind-mill’s creaking

Dies away, my heart is breaking,

Thinking how no more comes seeking

            One whom I have sent away.

Swift as then the day is dying,

Dim as then the fields are lying,

Thick as then the fire-flies flying –

            He comes not who went away.

God goes not for one refusing;

Ever near for newer choosing,

He postpones the final losing

            Till the mortal life is fled.

Human love to me appearing

Likest God’s, so all-enduring,

Of one fault I had no fearing,

            So the fatal word was said.

When at dusk the wind-mill’s creaking

Dies away, my heart is breaking,

Thinking how no more comes seeking

            One whom I have sent away.

Raymond Weeks

The Kiote, April 1899