RUTH
by: Thomas Hood (1799-1845)
- HE stood
breast-high amid the corn,
- Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
- Like the sweetheart of the sun,
- Who many a glowing kiss had won.
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- On her cheek an autumn flush,
- Deeply ripen'd;--such a blush
- In the midst of brown was born,
- Like red poppies grown with corn.
-
- Round her eyes her tresses fell,
- Which were blackest none could tell,
- But long lashes veil'd a light,
- That had else been all too bright.
-
- And her hat, with shady brim,
- Made her tressy forehead dim;
- Thus she stood amid the stooks,
- Praising God with sweetest looks:--
-
- Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean,
- Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
- Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
- Share my harvest and my home.
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POEMS BY THOMAS HOOD |
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