poet Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson

#195 on top 500 poets

The End Of Harvest

'O Love, who walkest slow among my sheaves,
Smiling at tint and shape, thy smile of peace,
But whispering of the next sweet year's increase,-
O tender Love, thy loving hope but grieves
My heart! I rue my harvest, if it leaves
Thee vainly waiting after harvests cease,
Like one who has been mocked by title lease
To barren fields.

Dear one, my word deceives
Thee never. Hearts one summer have. Their grain
'Is sown not that which shall be!'

Can new pain
Teach me of pain? Or any ecstasy
Be new, that I should speak its name again?
My darling, all there was or is of me
Is harvested for thine Eternity!

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 25, 2012

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Comments about The End Of Harvest by Helen Hunt Jackson

  • Ratnakar Mandlik (10/17/2016 10:20:00 AM)

    Smiling at tint and shape, thy smile of peace. Nice write. Thanks for sharing it here.

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