A poem of loss

The Reaper And The Flowers

is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearde
d grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

``Shall I have noug
ht that is fair?'' saith he;
``Have nought but the bea
rded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.''

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.

``My Lord has need of these flowe
rets gay,''
The Reape
r said, and smiled;
``Dear t
okens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.

``They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints,
upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms

And the mother
gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did lov
She knew she should find them a
ll again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in
cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper ca
me that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And t
ook the flowers away.

Henry Wadsworth Lo