Scythe Song

MOWERS, weary and brown, and blithe,  

 What is the word methinks ye know,  

Endless over-word that the Scythe  

 Sings to the blades of the grass below?  

Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,

 Something, still, they say as they pass;  

What is the word that, over and over,  

 Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?  

Hush, ah hush, the Scythes are saying,  

 Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;

Hush, they say to the grasses swaying;  

 Hush, they sing to the clover deep!  

Hush—’t is the lullaby Time is singing—  

 Hush, and heed not, for all things pass;  

Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging

 Over the clover, over the grass!