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...TO HIS WIFE ON THE 16TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY, WITH A RING by SAMUEL BISHOP THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ODE TO THE CONNECTICUT RIVER by JOSIAS LYNDON ARNOLD |