Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, REWARD, by ISABEL FISKE CONANT

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REWARD, by            
First Line: Because a passing stranger
Last Line: And the pale gold moon.

Because a passing stranger
Wore a high look
I was saved from danger
And the safe turn took. . .

Since I'm not ungrateful,
I have sent his way
A magic, heaped crateful
Of reward today.

If at all he need them --
And he seemed to fast --
May his hungers feed them
On these fruits at last.

When, surprised, he reaches
My unexpected gift,
Pomegranates, peaches,
Choosing, he will lift.

He did not know my peril,
Or his own boon;
But he will feast on beryl
And the pale gold moon.

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