When it’s too soon for spring, and even too soon
To think of it, you’d think—some afternoon
You’re sure to raise your eyes and see them there
Cresting the topmost ridge that tries to pare
Whole sections from the sky; a man and team
Of horses plowing. Cloud and clod would seem
To feel the plowshare equally. You wonder
If the sun itself isn’t apt to be plowed under
In that steep enterprise. It makes you proud
Of men who’ll start out halfway up a cloud
To sketch designs for summer on a land
That isn’t sure of spring. You understand,
Of course, it’s hard work plowing up a hill,
And bottom lands grow better crops, but still
There’s something useful to the heart and eye
In men who plow the earth against the sky.
–From The Greatest of These (written in 1949)