Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the smoke-clouds break, High in the sky shines a field as wide as the world. There he toils for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake. Ah, he is taller than clouds of the little earth. Only the congress of planets is over him, And the arching path where new sweet stars have birth. Wearing his peasant dress, his head bent low, Tolstoi, that angel of Peace, is plowing yet; Forward, across the field, his horses go. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISASTER by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY LOVE AND A QUESTION by ROBERT FROST PROUD MAISIE, FR. THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN by WALTER SCOTT THE FISHER'S BOY by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE LOVER TO THE THAMES OF LONDON TO FAVOUR HIS LADY ... by GEORGE TURBERVILLE |