THE plume-like swaying of the auburn corn, By soft winds to a dreamy motion fanned, Still brings me back thine image -- O forlorn, Yet not forsaken Ruth! I see thee stand Lone, 'midst the gladness of the harvest band -- Lone, as a wood-bird on the ocean's foam Fall'n in its weariness. Thy fatherland Smiles far away! yet to the sense of home -- That finest, purest, which can recognise Home in affection's glance -- for ever true Beats thy calm heart; and if thy gentle eyes Gleam tremulous through tears, 'tis not to rue Those words, immortal in their deep love's tone, "@3Thy people and thy God shall be mine own!@1" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEASONS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE FLAG GOES BY by HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT UP IN THE MORNING EARLY by ROBERT BURNS LOVE AT SEA by THEOPHILE GAUTIER LIFE [AND THE FLOWERS] by GEORGE HERBERT DAUGHTERS OF WAR by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE SAD MOTHER by KATHARINE TYNAN |