Harvest-Field Flowers

Come down into the harvest-fields This autumn morn with me; For in the pleasant autumn-fields There’s much to hear and see; On yellow slopes of waving corn The autumn sun shines clearly; And ’t is joy to walk, on days like this, Among the bearded barley.

Within the sunny harvest-fields We’ll gather flowers enow; The poppy red, the marigold, The bugles brightly blue; We’ll gather the white convolvulus That opes in the morning early; With a cluster of nuts, an ear of wheat, And an ear of the bearded barley.

Bright over the golden fields of corn Doth shine the autumn sky; So let’s be merry while we may, For time goes hurrying by. They took down the sickle from the wall When morning dew shone pearly; And the mower whets the ringing scythe To cut the bearded barley.

Come then into the harvest-fields; The robin sings his song; The corn stands yellow on the hills, And autumn stays not long. They’ll carry the sheaves of corn away; They carried to-day so early, Along the lanes, with a rustling sound, Their loads of the bearded barley.