Spring 1956 • Vol. XVIII No. 2 Poetry |

The Life of the Estate

A woman inherits the proprietorship of her estate: That though the land belongs to someone else, Those that live as they are accustomed to in the house on the hill, She feels in the same slow tread of the caretaker, Under his straw hat, that the right of possession lies at the   finger tips And that the land we feel beneath our feet is part of ourselves. The lands she cares for hiave been so long the living of her family That every man is considered an intruder, though some   excuse themselves In that their needs lie beneath the perpetuation of the estate. The house sits up on the hill; and has that satisfied look Of a head taking credit: for the comfort the body enjoys in bed, While below, on the green sloping lawns, its history is   daily re-enacted:The gardener, with his tools, breaking the earth for the   new root to grow, Or tying up plants grown too high for their stems to support; The delivery boy walking toward the rear with the food in   his arms;—

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