Harvest Song

From the German by Charles Timothy Brooks SICKLES sound; On the ground Fast the ripe ears fall; Every maiden’s bonnet Has blue blossoms on it: Joy is over all. Sickles ring, Maidens sing To the sickle’s sound; Till the moon is beaming, And the stubble gleaming, Harvest songs go round. All are springing, All are singing, Every lisping thing, Man and master meet, From one dish they eat; Each is now a king. Hans and Michael Whet the sickle, Piping merrily. Now they mow; each maiden Soon with sheaves is laden, Busy as a bee. Now the blisses, And the kisses! Now the wit doth flow Till the beer is out; Then, with song and shout, Home they go, yo ho!

Collection: 
English
1768
Ludwig Christoph Heinrich Hölty
Sub Title: 
III. The Seasons

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