The Russian Review/Volume 1/April 1916/Sowing
Sowing.
By Maximilian Voloshin.
Translated by A. Yarmolinski.
'Tis not the tiller
That steataing furrows drives
In chilly glades when autumn wanes;
And in her wounds the Earth
Rejoices not;
'Tis not the plow
That left these gaping traces on the glebe.
Not heavy seeds of golden wheat,
Nor Spring's sweet showers
That fecundate Earth's ever-virgin womb,
But steel and brass,
And living flesh and seething blood
The evil Sower has sown
In handfuls generous,
On days of Wrath and Falsehood.
The ears of Hate
And snakes of chaff
Will spring from out the fields
Of joyless victories,
Where Mother-Earth
Was angered by her cruel sons.