Sitting in a porchway cool, <br />Sunlight, I see, dying fast, <br />Twilight hastens on to rule. <br />Working hours have well-nigh past. <br />Shadows run across the lands: <br />But a sower lingers still, <br />Old, in rags, he patient stands. <br />Looking on, I feel a thrill. <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 />Marches he along the plain <br />To and fro, and scatters wide <br />From his hands the precious grain; <br />Muse I, as I see him stride. <br />Darkness deepens. Fades 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 />Toru Dutt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sower-8/
