In the cool, green Kentish marshes,
Dinner and discussion done,
To their chariots and caleches
Sped the guests of Dickinson.
Farmers' Letters he had written,
They had passed them “just the thing,”
That the tax and troops of Britain
Should be halted by the King.

Finer men Colonial station
Had not than these gentry fair,
Sitting inquest on a nation
For their province, Delaware:
Chew and Mifflin, Read and Bassett,
Men of law and substance good,
They had many a cherished asset
In their chosen neighborhood.

Immigrant from regions older,
They Penn's Territories sought;
Some were cautious, some were bolder,
All to act the rightful) thought—
Church men, Quakers, wived, estated,
Should they keep the strife afar,
Or plunge madly, Moloch-fated,
After Boston into war.

Negroes cleared the cloth these planters
Had enjoyed—the wild duck thin,
The Madeira in decanters,
The tureen of terrapin;
Pulled the table to the fireplace,
Where the corner chimney stood,
And their master's sword and broadbrim
Hung above the blazing wood.

(Did he see a sail a'mooring
At his landing by the creek
And his Quaker lady shoring,
Flitting through the evening bleak?)
Dickinson sat down to writing
And his mind went far afar;
“Haven't we a cause for fighting?—
Shall we shun the tyrant's war?”

Down his Quaker broadbrim tumbled
On the firewood, at the word,
And he took it up, right humbled,
Seeing but his father's sword—
Sword in Indian warfare whetted,
Flashing in the battle's glow,
When the Quakers peace abetted
And caressed the savage foe.

Back he hung the hat, emitting:
“War must end it just the same!
All the flues this chimney splitting
Have one outlet for the flame.
Thirteen provinces aflaming
Thirteen Colonies one aim—
They are like the corner chimney,
All united making flame.

All my chambers this is warning,
Shall one flue to draw refuse?
The whole continent is arming
Like my corner chimney flues.
Liberty! O flame ascendence!
Till one generous warmth we know!
Chimney stack of Independence,
Every fireplace in a glow!”

As he paced the room, aroused,
Drawing forth the sword revered,
For a moment was unhoused:—
Queer! the hat had disappeared.
But next morning it was hanging
And the sword no more was there:
Some fair Philadelphia lady
Busied her with Delaware.

Time soon sped the Declaration
And united fire begun;
Not a signer for the Nation
Was the name of Dickinson!
Quaker property imperilled,
All too late his sword he bare,
Though within the corner fireplace
Fuel burnt of Delaware.