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.
       
      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.

MORE POEMS BY THOMAS HOOD

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