And yet I think her rich. For with her came
So says report, young Mahlon's widow, Ruth,
Daughter of Moab, seeking after Truth,
Loving Naomi, clinging to her name.
Surely had I but once found such a maid
Among the maids of Israel, my heart
Had been less lonely. And my little part
In life's great battle had been wiser laid.
Broad are my fields. Sufficient is my store.
Men call me rich. Yet none need envy me.
My life is nothing but a barren tree
The poorest of my people have far more.
Today I heard a tale that touched my heart.
Naomi's come. And she that went out full
Has come back empty: yes, empty and dull
As one who cannot bide such cruel part.