Scythe Song

RS, 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!