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In
Divers Tones
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
Edited
by Tracy Ware
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THE
SOWER
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A brown,
sad-colored hillside, where the soil,
Fresh from the frequent harrow,
deep and fine,
Lies bare; no break in the remote
sky-line,
Save where a flock of pigeons streams aloft,
Startled from feed in some low-lying croft,
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Or
far-off spires with yellow of sunset shine;
And here the Sower, unwittingly
divine,
Exerts the silent forethought of his toil.
Alone he treads the glebe, his measured stride
Dumb in the yielding soil; and
tho’ small joy
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Dwell
in his heavy face, as spreads the blind
Pale grain from his dispensing palm aside,
This plodding churl grows great
in his employ;—
God-like, he
makes provision for mankind.
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