There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, <br /> And, with his sickle keen, <br />He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, <br /> And the flowers that grow between. <br /> <br />"Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he; <br /> "Have naught but the bearded grain? <br />Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, <br /> I will give them all back again." <br /> <br />He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, <br /> He kissed their drooping leaves; <br />It was for the Lord of Paradise <br /> He bound them in his sheaves. <br /> <br />"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," <br /> The Reaper said, and smiled; <br />"Dear tokens of the earth are they, <br /> Where he was once a child. <br /> <br />"They shall all bloom in fields of light, <br /> Transplanted by my care, <br />And saints, upon their garments white, <br /> These sacred blossoms wear." <br /> <br />And the mother gave, in tears and pain, <br /> The flowers she most did love; <br />She knew she should find them all again <br /> In the fields of light above. <br /> <br />O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, <br /> The Reaper came that day; <br />'T was an angel visited the green earth, <br /> And took the flowers away.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reaper-and-the-flowers-the/
