Sainte Jeanne went harvesting in France, But ah! what found she there? The little streams were running red, And the torn fields were bare; And all about the ruined towers Where once her king was crowned, The hurtling ploughs of war and death Had scored the desolate ground.
He ploughs in sand, and sows against the wind, That hopes for constant love of woman kind.thomas fuller
The hog that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.Alexander Pope