John Drinkwater

Harvest Moon

“Hush!” was my whisper
 
At the stair-top
 
When the waggoners were down below
 
Home from the barley-crop.
 
Through the high window
 
Looked the harvest moon,
 
While the waggoners sang
 
A harvest tune, —
 
“Hush!” was my whisper when
 
Marjory stept
 
Down from her attic-room,
 
A true-love-adept.
 
“Fill a can, fill a can,”
Waggoners of heart were they,
“Harvest-home, harvest-home,
Barleycorn is home to-day.” . . .
“Marjory, hush now —
Harvest —you hear?” —
Red was the moon’s rose
On the full year,
The cobwebs shook, so well
Did the waggoners sing —
“Hush!” —there was beauty at
That harvesting.
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