Page:Forget Me Not (1827).djvu/159

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RUTH.

BY T. HOOD, ESQ.

She stood breast-high amidst the corn,Clasp’d by the golden light of morn;Like the sweetheart of the sun,Who many a burning kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flushDeeply ripen’d—such a blushIn the midst of brown was born,Like red poppies grown with corn.
Round her eyes her tresses fell—Which were darkest none could tell;But long lashes veil’d a lightWhich had else been all too bright;
And her hat with shady brimMade her forehead darkly dim:Thus she stood among the stooks,Praising God with her sweet looks.
Sure, I said, Heav’n did not meanWhere I reap thou shouldst but glean:Lay thy sheaf adown, and comeShare my harvest and my home.
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