Ruth

William Bouguereau

Rest at Harvest

Ruth

She stood breast-high amid the corn,

Clasp’d 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 ripen’d;—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 veil’d 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, Heav’n did not mean,

Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,

Lay thy sheaf adown and come,

Share my harvest and my home.

~ Thomas Hood ~

Francisca

Juliet Margeret Cameron

Call and I Will Follow

Francisca

Francisca walks in the shadow of night,

But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light --

But if she sits in her garden bower,

'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower.

She listens -- but not for the nightingale --

Though her ear expects as soft a tale.

There winds a step through the foliage thick,

And her cheek grows pale--and her heart beats quick.

There whispers a voice thro' the rustling leaves,

A moment more--and they shall meet--

'Tis past--her Lover's at her feet.

~ Lord Byron ~

Delight in Disorder

Eugene Delacroix

Girl Seated in a Cemetery

Delight in Disorder

A sweet disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness.

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fair distraction;

An erring lace which here and there

Enthralls the crimson stomacher;

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbons to flow confusedly;

A winning wave, deserving note,

In the tempestuous petticoat;

A careless shoestring, in whose tie

I see a wild civility;

Do more bewitch me than when art

Is too precise in every part.

~ Robert Herrick ~

They Flee from Me

Walter Cox

Wine for Two

They Flee from Me

They flee from me that sometime did me seek

With naked foot stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle tame and meek

That now are wild and do not remember

That sometime they put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range

Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise

Twenty times better; but once in special,

In thin array after a pleasant guise,

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,

And she me caught in her arms long and small;

And therewithal sweetly did me kiss,

And softly said, Dear heart, how like you this?

It was no dream, I lay broad waking.

But all is turned thorough my gentleness

Into a strange fashion of forsaking;

And I have leave to go of her goodness

And she also to use newfangleness.

But since that I so kindely am served,

I would fain know what she hath deserved.

~ Sir Thomas Wyatt~
~ translated from Petrarch ~

The Eyes of Beauty

John White Alexander

A Ray of Sunlight

The Eyes of Beauty

You are a sky of autumn, pale and rose;

But all the sea of sadness in my blood

Surges, and ebbing, leaves my lips morose,

Salt with the memory of the bitter flood.

In vain your hand glides my faint bosom o'er,

That which you seek, beloved, is desecrate

By woman's tooth and talon; ah, no more

Seek in me for a heart which those dogs ate.

It is a ruin where the jackals rest,

And rend and tear and glut themselves and slay--

A perfume swims about your naked breast!

Beauty, hard scourge of spirits, have your way!

With flame-like eyes that at bright feasts have flared

Burn up these tatters that the beasts have spared!

~ Charles Baudelaire ~

Romance

Mónica Ozámiz Fortis

Lovers

Romance

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,

Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name,

And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,

And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,

Melodious like notes of mating birds;

To hear you ask if I shall love always,

And myself answer: Till the end of days;

To feel your easeful sigh of happiness

When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;

It is so sweet. We know it is not true.

What matters it? The night must shed her dew.

We know it is not true, but it is sweet --

The poem with this music is complete.

~ Claude McKay ~

Flower of Love

Jan Matys

Flora

Flower of Love

The perfume of your body dulls my sense.

I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone

Suffices. In this moment rare and tense

I worship at your breast. The flower is blown,

The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth,

The yellow heart is radiant now with dew

Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South;

O flower of love! I give myself to you.

Uncovered on your couch of figured green,

Here let us linger indivisible.

The portals of your sanctuary unseen

Receive my offering, yielding unto me.

Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!

The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute

Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep,

While we lie loving, passionate and mute.

~ Claude McKay ~