Explore "The Mowers. (D. H. Lawrence)" by D.H. Lawrence on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There's four men mowing down by the river; / I can hear the sound of the scythe strokes, four / Sharp breaths swishing: -- yea, but I / Am sorry for what's i' store.
The first man out o' the four that's mowin' / Is mine: I mun claim him once for all: / -- But I'm sorry for him, on his young feet, knowin' / None o' the trouble he's led to stall.
As he sees me bringin' the dinner, he lifts / His head as proud as a deer that looks / Shoulder-deep out o' th' corn: and wipes / His scythe blade bright, unhooks
His scythe stone, an' over the grass to me!
-- Lad, tha 's gotten a chilt in me, / An' a man an' a father tha 'lt ha'e to be, / My young slim lad, an' I'm sorry for thee.