Page:A child's own book of verse, (Vol. 3) (IA childsownbookofv03skin).pdf/28

 Mowers, weary and brown and blithe, What is the word methinks ye know, Endless over-word that the Scythe Sings to the blades of grass below ? Scythes that swing in the grass and dover, 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 dover 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 dover, over the grass! —.