"Mowing" is one of the best-known poems from Robert Frost's first collection, A Boy's Will (1913). Its speaker is a farmer mowing a field with an old-fashioned scythe (in an era before modern, mechanized lawn mowers). His scythe's "whispering" sound inspires him to imagine what the blade might be whispering—and, from there, to reflect on the larger meaning and purpose of his work. He rejects fantasies of wealth and comfort in favor of what he calls "the truth" or "The fact": the plain reality of what his work achieves. Ultimately, the poem celebrates labor (including creative as well as manual labor) done for its own sake.
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1There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
2And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
3What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
4Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
5Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
6And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
7It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
8Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
9Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
10To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
11Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
12(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
13The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
14My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
1There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
2And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
3What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
4Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
5Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
6And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
7It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
8Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
9Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
10To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
11Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
12(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
13The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
14My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to Robert Frost read "Mowing."
The Poet's Life and Work — A biography of Robert Frost at the Poetry Foundation.
A Frost Documentary — Watch a short film about Frost's life and career.
"A Boy's Will" — Browse the first U.S. edition (complete with author signature!) of the collection in which "Mowing" appears.
Interview with the Poet — A 1952 NBC interview with Robert Frost.