Where You Chose to Be

SUMMERS, when the years were young,
You climbed this hill, you chose
This graveyard for your own between
The spruces and wild rose.

The winds here had the sea in them
And the cows’ sweet breath,
Wood-thrushes called from hill to hill,
Death here was not like death.

Dark sprucewoods where the sun came up,
A green farm where it set,
Church to south and school to north,
Here all the good things met.

Small boys and big geographies
Went past along the road,
Folks in Sunday-meeting clothes,
The hayrack’s honeyed load.

Here were captains home from sea
A hundred years ago,
Old babies rocked to sleep for good
Under the Spring or snow.

The lichened slates with willow trees
Weeping lovely lace
Where the young wild rabbit showed
His shy, wrinkled face.

Now on the island where you found
Wild strawberries and love
You lie in the graveyard of your choice,
And the sea winds blow above.

Deer stare at the tinkling cows;
Rest, where you chose to be.
The high fog comes in over the hill
With gray eternity.