  “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. |
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