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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF STERLING AND SARAH LANIER by SIDNEY LANIER DOMESDAY BOOK: WIDOW FORTELKA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS EMMELINE GRANGERFORD'S 'ODE TO STEPHEN DOLWING BOTS, DEC'D' by SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE MAID OF NEIDPATH by WALTER SCOTT ODE: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |