Barley-mowers, here we stand. One, two, three, a steady band. True of heart and strong of limb, Ready in our harvest trim; All a-row, with spirits blithe. Now we whet the bended scythe, MinJc-a-tink, rinK-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink! Side by side, now bending low, Down the swaths of barley go. Stroke by stroke, as true's ^ the chime Of the bells, we keep in time ; Then we whet the ringing scythe. Standing 'mong the barley lithe,^ Rink-a-tink^ tink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-tink. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROTESTATION by THOMAS CAREW LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND by THOMAS HARDY THE AGED STRANGER; AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SUMMER LONGINGS by DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY AFTER THE PLEASURE PARTY by HERMAN MELVILLE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 48 by OMAR KHAYYAM ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 12. ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS IN COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE |