Hamatreya
Bulkeley, Hunt,
Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint,
Possessed the land
which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots,
hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood.
Each of these
landlords walked amidst his farm,
Saying, "'T is
mine, my children's and my name's.
How sweet the west
wind sounds in my own trees!
How graceful climb
those shadows on my hill!
I fancy these pure
waters and the flags
Know me, as does my
dog: we sympathize;
And, I affirm, my
actions smack of the soil."
Where are these
men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond
as they, their furrows plough.
Earth laughs in
flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud
of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the
plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
They added ridge to
valley, brook to pond,
And sighed for all
that bounded their domain;
"This suits me
for a pasture; that's my park;
We must have clay,
lime, gravel, granite-ledge,
And misty lowland,
where to go for peat.
The land is well, —
lies fairly to the south.
'T is good, when
you have crossed the sea and back,
To find the sitfast
acres where you left them."
Ah! the hot owner
sees not Death, who adds
Him to his land, a
lump of mould the more.
Hear what the Earth says: —
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