Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the smoke-clouds break, <br />High in the sky shines a field as wide as the world. <br />There he toils for the Kingdom of Heaven’s sake. <br /> <br />Ah, he is taller than clouds of the little earth. <br />Only the congress of planets is over him, <br />And the arching path where new sweet stars have birth. <br /> <br />Wearing his peasant dress, his head bent low, <br />Tolstoi, that angel of Peace, is plowing yet; <br />Forward, across the field, his horses go.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tolstoi-is-plowing-yet/
