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.