On soft-winged sails of meditation My boat of spiral shells and flowers, And fluffy clouds and twinkling hours, My thought-boat went with the sun all day Over the glaciers, far away. I sat alone, but the chipmunks knew My boat was high, and plain to view. I flew my ship like a kite. The thread Was a cobweb silk, fine and thin, That came from out the palm of my hand. There I saw the ship begin. From the gypsy’s life line thence it came A feather of mist that flew to the dawn, And I felt the spool in my wrist unwind, And I saw the feather on heaven’s lawn, Now a glimmering ship like a lark awake. And the kite string sang, but did not break. [Illustration] It stretched like the string of a violin Played by invisible tides and waves. It sang of Springfield yet to be. It sang of the dead hours in their graves. And of the United States to be, And of all the map stretched out below. And my kite had pansy eyes in its wings, And I saw the states in their bloom and glow Yet a child’s block-map, and nothing more, Flat patterns on a playroom floor. Texas the fort, by the river to the south, Michigan a pheasant with a leaf in its mouth, Illinois an ear of corn, in the shock, Maine a moose-horn, gray as a rock. California a whale, in gilded mail, Montana, a ranch of alfalfa and clover, Montana with its mountain called “Going-To-The-Sun,” An outdoor temple for the singer and the rover, Wyoming a range for a summer lark, With sparkling trails, and its Yellowstone Park, Colorado an Indian tent for the world, Where the smokes of care-free camps are curled, Arizona a mission in the desert for all time, Where the nerves find peace, and thoughts find rhyme, New Mexico a clay pueblo full of dreams, Eldorado in its valleys, ghosts by its streams. Utah a throne for a grandeur unknown, For haughty hearts, with ways of their own. Nevada the cabin of Mark Twain in his youth, Where he mined in the cañons, where he dug for the truth. Washington a western soldier’s tent, Idaho a chair for a president, North and South Dakota, one buffalo hide, Oregon a lumber mill on a mountain side, Nebraska, Oklahoma, cowboy pistols pointing west Kansas a wheat field where I, once, was a guest, Iowa a corn pone sizzling hot, Minnesota a farmer’s coffee-pot. Arkansas a steamboat at Mark Twain’s door, Missouri Mark Twain’s raft on the shore. Louisiana a cavalier’s boot, just the thing When we wade toward the mouth of the delta in the spring. Mississippi a cotton scales, Alabama many cotton bales, Georgia a peach-basket red, Florida a wild turkey’s head, North Carolina a crane, flying through a cloud, South Carolina a soldier, with head unbowed, West Virginia, the raccoon, shrewd and slow,