Its new life; in ideal garden,
Animal's mind, no evil waits
For happenings among the poppies.
Men's knowledge
That death's no incident
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God's creatures never knew,
Nor fact in weedier gardens felt
That men, somehow as lesser creatures,
Seems must create
The power to hate.
Poem
That day, when quietness found me, I was walking
Through the locust-grove, inspecting spiny trunks to cut for fenceposts, the snow
Three days fallen and not melted, far from any farmhouse; the rhythm
Of bare grove without motion, and the sun hidden.
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