The Six Boards

       Six boards belong to me:
I do not know where they may be;
If growing green, or lying dry
                 In a cockloft nigh.

       Some morning I shall claim them,
And who may then possess will aim them
To bring to me those boards I need
                 With thoughtful speed.

       But though they hurry so
To yield me mine, I shall not know
How well my want they'll have supplied
                 When notified.

       Those boards and I—how much
In common we, of feel and touch
Shall share thence on,—earth's far core-quakings,
                 Hill-shocks, tide-shakings—

       Yea, hid where none will note,
The once live tree and man, remote
From mundane hurt as if on Venus, Mars,
                 Or furthest stars.