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...ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY LITTLE ONE' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 2 by EZRA POUND ON THE THREE PHILOSOPHICAL POETS by GEORGE SANTAYANA NOVEMBER STARS by SARA TEASDALE |