“The Hay-makers”
from The poetical works (1861)
It is sweet, love, to stray,
When the noon-tide is over,
Through the windrows of hay,
And the white-blossomed clover;
...
Where each lass may partake
In the toil and the pleasure,
Keeping time, with the rake,
To the lark's tuneful measure.
Oh 'tis sweet thus to stray,
When the noon-tide is over,
Through the windrows of hay,
And the white-blossomed clover.
There the swains cut their paths
Through the sections assigned them,
Leaving sweet-scented swaths
Swelling gayly behind them.
Tender childhood and age,
Sturdy manhood and beauty,
All with ardor engage
In so pleasing a duty.
Oh 'tis sweet thus to stray,
When the noon-tide is over,
Through the windrows of hay,
And the white-blossomed clover.
As the billow of grass
Over the meadow is driven,
By some rose-visaged lass
'Tis divided and riven,
When her swain lends his aid,
And the green hillock rises,
...
Then the half-willing maid
With a sly kiss surprises.
Oh 'tis sweet thus to stray,
When the noon-tide is over,
Through the windrows of hay,
And the white blossomed clover.
See the gay romping elves,
Now the sweet task is over,
All amusing themselves,
On the balm-breathing clover;
There the swain whispers love
To his heart's dearest treasure,
Who affects to reprove,
While her eyes beam with pleasure.
Oh 'tis sweet thus to stray,
When the noon-tide is over,
Through the windrows of hay,
And the white-blossomed clover.
While we at Willowbrook make hay amidst our mild drought, we remember our neighbours across the Tasman whose lives have been traumatically turned upside down by the unprecedented flooding, and pray for a speedy halt to the rain and a quick recovery.
Making hay while the sun shines.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to believe we are going to have a few nights below Zero and you are harvesting hay like we do in July. Beautiful post and paintings. Thank you.
yvonne