Sitting in a porchway cool, <br />Fades the ruddy sunlight fast, <br />Twilight hastens on to rule-- <br />Working hours are wellnigh past <br /> <br />Shadows shoot across the lands; <br />But one sower lingers still, <br />Old, in rags, he patient stands,-- <br />Looking on, I feel a thrill. <br /> <br />Black and high his silhouette <br />Dominates the furrows deep! <br />Now to sow the task is set, <br />Soon shall come a time to reap. <br /> <br />Marches he along the plain, <br />To and fro, and scatters wide <br />From his hands the precious grain; <br />Moody, I, to see him stride. <br /> <br />Darkness deepens. Gone the light. <br />Now his gestures to mine eyes <br />Are august; and strange--his height <br />Seems to touch the starry skies.<br /><br />Victor Marie Hugo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sower-5/
