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Victor Hugo - The Sower
Work rating: Low

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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