The Sower

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