Strange to have reached three score and ten And, looking back, to see the warp and woof That shaped the pattern of my days. The hills of Lynn - my Mother looking out to sea To watch the flash of Minot's Light. Always she loved ''the lights along the shore,'' nd always the sea rolled through our lives As with our grandsires in their clipper ships and whalers. The mystic East was in our home - Canton and Chinese swords, lacquer and ginger jars - Exotic things, brought back long years ago, Yet dwelling side by side with ladder-backs and lowboys. New England elms (before the hurricane). The Harvard Yard. My footsteps on the worn brick walks of Beacon Hill. Carols, and falling snow. New England has been woven through my life With the fragrance of lilacs And the salt marshes of old Ipswich town.

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