Ruth

She 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 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 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.

Thomas Hood . 1798-1844

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Poetry of Hood

Thomas Hood
born 1798, died 1844

Poems

The Wee Man
The Exile
The Lay of the Labourer
The Song of the Shirt
Gold
The Bridge of Sighs
The Death-Bed
I Remember, I Remember!
I Love Thee!
To An Absentee
To -
The Forsaken
Ruth
To My Daughter
To A Child
A Parental Ode To My Son, Aged Three Years And Five Months
To A False Friend
Flowers
The Lee-Shore

See all poems index for
Thomas Hood

Ruth - Thomas Hood - poetry, poems

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