XXXIII
Along the Potomac
When I was small, a woman died.To-day her only boyWent up from the Potomac,His face all victory,
To look at her; how slowlyThe seasons must have turnedTill bullets clipt an angle,And he passed quickly round!
If pride shall be in ParadiseI never can decide;Of their imperial conduct,No person testified.
But proud in apparition,That woman and her boyPass back and forth before my brain,As ever in the sky.