English poem
[La Pitié Supreme Viii., 1881.]
by Victor Hugo (1802–1885)
When an angel of kindness Saw, doomed to the dark, Men framed in his likeness, He sought for a spark-- Stray gem of God's glory That shines so serene-- And, falling like lark, To brighten our story, Pure Pity was seen.
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.
TORU DUTT.