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.
