Jefferson Davis: 1808-1889 No more the white refulgent streets. Never the dry hollows of the mind Shall he in fine courtesy walk Again, for death is not unkind. A civil war cast on his fame, The four years` odium of strife Unbodies his dust; love cannot warm His tall corpuscles to this life. What did we gain? What did we lose? Be still; grief for the pious dead Suspires from bosoms of kind souls Lavender-wise, propped up in bed. Our loss put six feet under ground Is measured by the magnolia`s root; Our gain`s the intellectual sound Of death`s feet round a weedy tomb. In the back chambers of the State (Just preterition for his crimes) We curse him to our busy sky Who`s busy in a hell a hundred times A day, though profitless his task, Heedless what Belial may say- He who wore out the perfect mask Orestes fled in night and day.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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