Big as a table-top, the white map lies under my
They knew green days, and warm roofed-over nights of love,
Knew rage, delight, despair not found in the town clerks' records.
One struck his wife down, ran in a hundred-year-old night
Over the lake ice, fell in the black water, was drowned and damned.
Some owed too much money, some fought too long in the wars,
All dreamed, bought, worked, hated and hurried well.
But there must have been singers in the clover, in the pines,
Shouters to the mountain echo, listening. 28.
Shall I draw crossed knives on this crowded map?
As I believe the life in words is as long as heaven to live in?
"I hereby give and bequeath
To my Beloved Sone William Holmes
My Gun, my clock, and my Writing Desk." 30.
They gave their sons Death Ready, Time Passing, the Word Written.
I shall not give my own son more, but hope to tell him
I had my heaven on earth, as they had theirs, and knew it.
They buried their kind in Kansas and Vermont,