Haying With Helen

I’ve hayed with my father,

     When I was a boy;

And I can assure you

     I found it no joy.

I’ve hayed with the neighbors

     For so much per day;

But ne’er could I relish

     The making of hay.

I’ve hayed in the morning

     At breaking of dawn;

I’ve swung the old cutter

     With muscle and brawn.

But never till lately,

     In fact till today,

Have I really been happy

     At making the hay.

But Helen came with me,

     Fair Helen from town;

Fair Helen with dimples,

     And tresses of brown.

She raked the stray grasses

     And followed the cart;

But O, she did

     She raked my poor heart!

Ah! Haying with Helen

     While birds sang their lays;

While nature was shrouded

     In mystical haze.

I’ve hayed with my father,

     Resentful and blind;

But haying with Helen

     Is joy undefined!

July 26, ‘10