Within the barn; and while the rain

Beat on the roofs we burrowed deep

In rustling caves, or from the heap

Threw down our golden citadel,

While girls unbound the sheaves that fell

For threshing, and as each new load

Between the spinning rollers flowed,{8}

{8}

The hum of wheels, the engine’s drone

A sudden octave fell in tone;

And grain was stored, and billows soft

Of straw went rolling to the loft,

And out on skies of cheerless grey

The winnowed chaff was blown away.

But after days of winter rains

Came mornings when our window-panes

Were bright with sunshine and embossed

With silver trellises of frost;

And out we rushed across the yard,

Down rutty cart tracks, frozen hard,

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