For Each by Christina Rossetti

My harvest is done, its promise is ended,
Weak and watery sets the sun,
Day and night in one mist are blended,
My harvest is done.

Long while running, how short when run,
Time to eternity has descended,
Timeless eternity has begun.

Was it the narrow way that I wended?
Snares and pits was it mine to shun?
The scythe has fallen, so long suspended,
My harvest is done.

Step inside the Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden | Tate

Explore the work of Barbara Hepworth through her home, studio, and garden. Barbara Hepworth first came to live in Cornwall with her husband ...