She’s one of the two best states in the Union. Vermont’s the other. And the two have been Yoke-fellows in the sap-yoke from of old In many Marches.[7] And they lie like wedges, Thick end to thin end and thin end to thick end, And are a figure of the way the strong Of mind and strong of arm should fit together, One thick where one is thin and vice versa. New Hampshire raises the Connecticut In a trout hatchery near Canada, But soon divides the river with Vermont. Both are delightful states for their absurdly Small towns—Lost Nation, Bungey, Muddy Boo, Poplin, Still Corners (so called not because The place is silent all day long, nor yet Because it boasts a whisky still—because It set out once to be a city and still Is only corners, cross-roads in a wood). And I remember one whose name appeared Between the pictures on a movie screen Election[8] night once in Franconia, When everything had gone Republican And Democrats were sore in need of comfort: Easton goes Democratic, Wilson 4 Hughes 2. And everybody to the saddest Laughed the loud laugh, the big laugh at the little. New York (five million) laughs at Manchester, Manchester (sixty or seventy thousand) laughs At Littleton (four thousand), Littleton Laughs at Franconia (seven hundred), and Franconia laughs, I fear,—did laugh that night— At Easton. What has Easton left to laugh at, And like the actress exclaim, “Oh my God” at? There’s Bungey; and for Bungey there are towns, Whole townships named but without population.[9] Anything I can say about New Hampshire Will serve almost as well about Vermont, Excepting that they differ in their mountains. The Vermont mountains stretch extended straight; New Hampshire mountains curl up in a coil.