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. SUMMER WOODS. Come ye into the summer-woods; There entereth no annoy; All greenly wave the chesnut leaves, And the earth is full of joy. I cannot tell you half the sights Of beauty you may see, The bursts of golden sunshine, And many a shady tree. There, lightly swung, in bowery glades, The honey-suckles twine; There blooms the rose-red campion, And the dark-blue columbine. There grows the four-leaved plant “true love,” In some dusk woodland spot; There grows the enchanter’s night-shade, And the wood forget-me-not. And many a merry bird is there, Unscared by lawless men; The blue-winged jay, the wood-pecker, And the golden-crested wren. Come down and ye shall see them all, The timid and the bold; For their sweet life of pleasantness, It is not to be told. And far within that summer-wood, Among the leaves so green, There flows a little gurgling brook, The brightest e’er was seen. There comes the little gentle birds, Without a fear of ill; Down to the murmuring water’s edge, And freely drink their fill! And dash about and splash about, The merry little things: And look askance with bright black eyes, And flirt their dripping wings. I’ve seen the freakish squirrel drop Down from their leafy tree, The little squirrels with the old,-- Great joy it was to me! And down unto the running brook; I’ve seen them nimbly go; And the bright water seemed to speak A welcome kind and low. The nodding plants they bowed their heads, As if, in heartsome cheer, They spake unto those little things, “Tis merry living here!” Oh, how my heart ran o’er with joy! I saw that all was good, And how we might glean up delight All round us, if we would!