Uploaded on September 11, 2011
Bulkely, 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 landowners walked amidst his farm,
saying, “Tis 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. …
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Giant Book of Poetry
edited by William H. Roetzheim
09.11.2023: It doesn’t have to be man vs. nature.