[1]
The farmer's patient care and toil
Are oftener wanting than the soil.
A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end,
Call'd in his sons apart from every friend,
And said, 'When of your sire bereft,
The heritage our fathers left
Guard well, nor sell a single field.
A treasure in it is conceal'd:
The place, precisely, I don't know,
But industry will serve to show.
The harvest past, Time's forelock take,
And search with plough, and spade, and rake;
Turn over every inch of sod,
Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod.'
The father died. The sons - and not in vain -
Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again;
That year their acres bore
More grain than e'er before.
Though hidden money found they none,
Yet had their father wisely done,
To show by such a measure,
That toil itself is treasure.
The Ploughman And His Sons
Jean De La Fontaine
(1)
Poem topics: friend, money, time, hidden, field, place, year, measure, guard, father, single, treasure, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about The Ploughman And His Sons poem by Jean De La Fontaine
Best Poems of Jean De La Fontaine