For other versions of this work, see Ruth (Hood).
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.
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 flush
Deeply ripen’d—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
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 darkest none could tell;
But long lashes veil’d a light
Which had else been all too bright;
Which were darkest none could tell;
But long lashes veil’d a light
Which had else been all too bright;
And her hat with shady brim
Made her forehead darkly dim:
Thus she stood among the stooks,
Praising God with her sweet looks.
Made her forehead darkly dim:
Thus she stood among the stooks,
Praising God with her sweet 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.
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean:
Lay thy sheaf adown, and come
Share my harvest and my home.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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