Wringing In

Now the summer's heat is fated
To depart with times that fly,
And the rain clouds that are plaited
Make dark ringlets in the sky,
We'll be soaked through by and by.

Wring in the harvest boys,
Wringing in the sheaves,
Wring out our jerkins boys,
Wringing out our sleeves.

Now the summer's heart is broken
To lie and faint in autumn's bower
And the thunder's the loud spoken
Breaking of the sun's bright tower,
We'll be soaked beneath the shower

Wring in the harvest girls,
Wringing in the smocks,
Lank our hair, and flat our curls,
Wringing out our socks.

Now the summer's turned its back
To show its red and raw,
And the winds will shake the corn stack,
'til they find its flaw,
We'll be soaked outside the door.

Wring in the harvest all
Wringing in the thresher
Sodden garments in a ball
Wrung by mangle's pressure.

Now the summer's caught its ague,
To cough and snarl its spend,
Cramped and crabbed with its lumbago,
Ancient as a grandsire's friend,
We'll be soaked t' bitter end.

Wet and bleak the dying months
Bone cold clod and sore
Still when all is gathered in,
They'll be drinks for a'.