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...CANTICLE OF THE RACE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ULYSSES AND THE SIREN by SAMUEL DANIEL A THUNDERSTORM IN TOWN by THOMAS HARDY A DEDICATION by ALFRED TENNYSON ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH APRIL - AND DYING by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH TO TWO BEREAVED by THOMAS ASHE POEM, READ THE SOLDIERS' WELCOME, FRANKLIN, NEW YORK, AUG. 5, 1865 by B. H. BARNES |