Come, sons of summer

by whose toil
We are the lords of wine and oil:
By whose tough labours, and rough hands,
We rip up first, then reap our lands.
Crowned with the ears of corn, now come,
And to the pipe sing harvest home.
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart
Dressed up with all the country art. . . .

Not a cart, in the Jews’ case, but a hut. Like the ones the Israelites dwelled in while they crossed the desert.

A Commonplace Blog will be offline for the hag of Sukkot until Sunday evening at the earliest.