But to return To Elenor Murray, I have made a book Called Domesday Book, a census spiritual Taken of our America, or in part Taken, not wholly taken, it may be. For William Merival, the coroner, Who probed the death of Elenor Murray goes As far as may be, and beyond his power, In diagnosis of America, While finding out the cause of death. In short Becomes a William the Conqueror that way In making up a Domesday Book for us.... Of this a little later. But before We touch upon the Domesday book of old, We take up Elenor Murray, show her birth; Then skip all time between and show her death; Then take up Coroner Merival--who was he? Then trace the life of Elenor Murray through The witnesses at the inquest on the body Of Elenor Murray;--also letters written, And essays written, conversations heard, But all evoked by Elenor Murray's death. And by the way trace riffles here and there.... A word now on the Domesday book of old: Remember not a book of doom, but a book Of houses; domus, house, so domus book. And this book of the death of Elenor Murray Is not a book of doom, though showing too How fate was woven round her, and the souls That touched her soul; but is a house book too Of riches, poverty, and weakness, strength Of this our country. If you take St. Luke You find an angel came to Mary, said: Hail! thou art highly favored, shalt conceive, Bring forth a son, a king for David's throne:-- So tracing life before the life was born. We do the same for Elenor Murray, though No man or angel said to Elenor's mother: You have found favor, you are blessed of God, You shall conceive, bring forth a daughter blest, And blessing you. Quite otherwise the case, As being blest or blessing, something like Perhaps, in that desire, or flame of life, Which gifts new souls with passion, strength and love.... This is the manner of the girl's conception, And of her birth:--... THE BIRTH OF ELENOR MURRAY What are the mortal facts With which we deal? The man is thirty years, Most vital, in a richness physical, Of musical heart and feeling; and the woman Is twenty-eight, a cradle warm and rich For life to grow in.