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 Scythe was 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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DISAPPOINTMENT by APHRA BEHN THE TWO MYSTERIES by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE THE FARMER'S BRIDE by CHARLOTTE MEW SISTER HELEN by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE OWL (1) by ALFRED TENNYSON AMERICA by JAMES MONROE WHITFIELD |