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A very rough interpretation. Incomplete and incorrect, but what the heck:
Mowing

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.


The only sound is the sound of death. Throughout life, the inevitability of death is always there and is the only real sound we hear.

What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,


I think the heat of the sun is reference to life, as the sun ultimately is the source of all life. Death speaks to us about the heat of the sun, the energy of life.

Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.

But no one really knows what death will bring. It never tells us, but only whispers so low that we can't hear. No one knows what death will bring, and there really is no way to find out.

It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:


Death's whisperings to Frost are not of a paradise of idle hours and gold.

Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
More than the truth of death as an end doesn't compute? No paradise awaiting?

To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,

And yet, it is from love that really makes the impact of death felt. I'd guess the generations that have been born and died and laid to rest in rows (cemetaries) are what the swale represents. The mown swale also invokes images of a grave yard.

Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers

and the feeble pointed spikes of flowers can be flowers on grave stones or the grave stones themselves

(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
Pale orchises invoke the image of a lily and the snake has long been held as a symbol of death and rebirth. The snake sheds it's skin and grows another like people may shed their bodies and be reborn. I don't know if this is hinting at the possibility of rebirth or if the snake is scared because he does not believe in the rebirth.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.


The fact that death awaits is a comfort that this life of toil will end, but death still only whispers to us and we do not know what really awaits us at the end of life. And though, the scythe continuously whispers, you still have to “make hay while the sun shines” and live your life while you have it.
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