NEW HAMPSHIRE AGAIN

By CARL SANDBURG

1 remember black waters.

1 remember thin white birches.

I remember sleepy white hills.

1 remember riding along New Hampshire lengthways.

I remember a station named Halcyon, the brakeman calling to passengers "Hal-cy-on! ! Hal-cy-on! !"

I remember having heard the gold diggers dig out only enough for wedding rings.

I remember a stately child telling me her father gets letters addressed, "Robert Frost, New Hampshire."

1 remember an old Irish saying, "His face is like a fiddle and every one who sees him loves him."

I have one remember, two remembers;

1 have a little handkerchief bundle of remembers.

One early evening star just over a cradle moon.

One dark river with a spatter of later stars caught;

One funnel of a motor car headlight up a hill;

One team of horses hauling a load of wood, and a boy (and a red yarn stocking cap) whistling, going skating.

One boy on skis picking himself up after a tumble—

1 remember one and a-one and a-one riding along New Hampshire lengthways; I have a little handkerchief bundle of remembers.