The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood/Ruth

For other versions of this work, see Ruth (Hood).
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RUTH.

She stood breast-high amid the corn,Clasped by the golden light of morn,Like the sweetheart of the sun,Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her check an autumn flush,Deeply ripened;—such a blushIn 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 veiled a lightThat 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, Heaven did not meanWhere I reap thou shouldst but gleanLay thy sheaf adown and come,Share my harvest and my home.
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