The Night Before The Mowing

ALL shimmering in the morning shine And diamonded with dew, And quivering in the scented wind That thrills its green heart through,-- The little field, the smiling field, With all its flowers a-blowing, How happy looks the golden field The day before the mowing! All still 'neath the departing light, Twilight, though void of stars, Save where, low westering, Venus hides From the red eye of Mars; How quiet lies the silent field With all its beauties glowing; Just stirring,--like a child asleep,-- The night before the mowing. Sharp steel, inevitable hand, Cut keen, cut kind! Our field We know full well must be laid low Before its wealth it yield: Labor and mirth and plenty blest Its blameless death bestowing: And yet we weep, and yet we weep, The night before the mowing.