There is a Reaper whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. "They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day; 'T was an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT WOODNOTES: 2 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON UPON HIS LEAVING HIS MISTRESS by JOHN WILMOT IN A LETTER TO A.R.C. ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED ANNA by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS VALUES by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE A TALE OF VILLAFRANCA; TOLD IN TUSCANY by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |