Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe,
What is the word methinks you know,
Endless over-word that the Scythe
Sings to the blades of the grass below?
Scythes that swing in the glass 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_--'tis 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!
* * * * *
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE
ENGLAND, 1837-