Ripening in the dog-star's ray,
Some, too early mown, doth lay;
Some in graceful shocks doth stand
Nodding farewell to the land
That did give it life and birth;
Some is borne, with shout and mirth,
Drooping o'er the groaning wain.
Through the deep embowered lane;
And the happy cottaged poor,
Hail it, as it glooms their door,