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8 More than enough land for a specimen You'll say she has, but there there enters in Something else to protect her from herself. There quality makes up for quantity. Not even New Hampshire farms are much for sale. The farm I made my home on in the mountains I had to take by force rather than buy. I caught the owner outdoors by himself Raking up after winter, and I said, "I'm going to put you off this farm: I want it." "Where are you going to put me? In the road?" "I'm going to put you on the farm next to it." "Why won't the farm next to it do for you?" "I like this better." It was really better.

Apples? New Hampshire has them, but unsprayed. With no suspicion in stem-end or blossom-end Of vitriol or arsenate of lead, And so not good for anything but cider. Her unpruned grapes are flung like lariats Far up the birches out of reach of man.

A state producing precious metals, stones, And—writing; none of these except perhaps The precious literature in quantity Or quality to worry the producer About disposing of it. Do you know, Considering the market, there are more Poems produced than any other thing?