Sorry as Konstantin Levin was to crush down his mowing grass, he drove him into the meadow.

The high grass softly turned about the wheels and the horse's legs, leaving its seeds clinging to the wet axles and spokes of the wheels.

His brother seated himself under a bush, arranging his tackle, while Levin led the horse away, fastened him up, and walked into the vast gray-green sea of grass unstirred by the wind.

The silky grass with its ripe seeds came almost to his waist in the dampest spots.