The miller’s joy is roaming, Roaming through the land; He loves the sound of rushing Of water near at hand. That’s what the miller loves, That’s what the miller loves! To wander is the miller’s delight, To wander! The stones, they turn in circles, And never wish to rest; The water, ever flowing, Knows wandering is best. That’s what the miller loves, That’s what the miller loves! To wander is the miller’s delight, To wander! The mill-wheels keep on turning By water’s ceaseless might; And thus the miller’s longing Is ever for the flight. That’s what the miller loves, That’s what the miller loves! To wander is the miller’s delight, To wander!
