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Ruth - a poem by Thomas Hood


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 cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened; 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 veiled 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, heaven did not mean, 
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
Share my harvest and my home.

Ruth - a poem by Thomas Hood

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