Eh, Russians, Fowlers of the universe. You who trailed heaven with the net of dawn, Lift your trumpets! Beneath the plow of storm The dumb earth roars. Golden-tusked, the colter breaks The cliffs. A new sower Roams the fields. New seeds He casts into the furrows. A guest of light drives toward us In a coach. Across the clouds A mare races. The breech-band on the mare: The blue; The bells on the breech-band: The stars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUESTION by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON AGAINST QUARRELLING AND FIGHTING by ISAAC WATTS ICHABOD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER INVITATION by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE SAME FOREVER by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR |