The Sower (Poem by Victor Hugo)

Old Poem



The Sower
By Victor Hugo


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.

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