circles

With freedoms seed the desert sowing,
I walked before the morning star;
From pure and guiltless fingers throwing
Where slavish plows had left a scar
The fecund seed, the procreator;
Oh vain and sad disseminator,
I learned then what lost labors are.
Graze if you will, you peaceful nations,
Who never rouse at honors horn!
Should flocks heed freedoms invocations?
Their part is to be slain or shorn,
Their dower the yoke their sires have worn
Through snug and sheepish generations.

-Behold a Sower by Alexander Pushkin