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...FONTAINEBLEAU (AUTUMN) by SARA TEASDALE AN EXPOSTULATION by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE A LITTLE WHILE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR AFTER WINTER by STERLING ALLEN BROWN TO MYRTILLA OF NEW YORK by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONG OF YOUTH by LULU PIPER AIKEN |