With sanguine looks <br />And rolling walk <br />Among the rooks <br />He loved to stalk, <br /> <br />While on the land <br />With gusty laugh <br />From a full hand <br />He scattered chaff. <br /> <br />Now that within <br />His spirit sleeps <br />A harvest thin <br />The sickle reaps; <br /> <br />But the dumb fields <br />Desire his tread, <br />And no earth yields <br />A wheat more red.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-sower/
