Lull Myself Asleep

I am obliged to conjure up the former occupants
The laughter and the gossip of the old inhabitants
Like many of my townsmen, their memories I keep
And with such reminiscences I lull myself asleep

East of my beanfield, ‘cross the road, lived Cato Ingraham
Who let the walnut trees grow up lest he have need of them
The slave of a Concord gentleman, he lived in Walden wood
The goldenrod in the cellarhole marked where his dwelling stood

Here by the corner of my field, Zilpha sat to sing
Spinning linen for the town, she made the woods to ring
Her house was burned down in the war and she was left alone
Heard above her gurgling pot to mutter to the bones

Down the road on the right hand stood Brister Freeman’s hill
The apple trees he planted are growing wild there still
He tended them for a squire until he grew too old
He’s buried with his Fenda dear, she who fortunes told

Farther in the woods than these and nearer to the pond
Wyman the potter squatted turning earthenware for town
His family lived by clay and wheel, never rich in earthly goods
But I am pleased to know their art had graced my neighborhood

And their vivacious lilacs for generations on
Unfold their flowers every spring when door and sill are gone
Smelling just as sweetly and blossoming as fair
I mark their tender civil cheerful lilac colors there

Little did the children think when they stuck it in the ground
That it would root itself so ‘til their house had fallen down
And tell their story faintly to a wanderer besides
After half a century since they had grown and died

Thus I try to conjure up the former occupants
The laughter and the gossip of the old inhabitants
Like many of my townsmen, their memories I keep
And with such reminiscences I lull myself asleep