Jefferson Davis, pride of Mississippi, First President of the Confederate States, What are you thinking now? Your eyes look tired. Your face looks more and more like John Calhoun. And that is just, because you are his son In everything but blood, the austere child Of his ideas, the flower of states-rights. I will not gird against you, Jefferson Davis. I sent you a challenge once, but that’s forgotten, And though your blood runs differently from mine, The Jew salutes you from behind his fan, Because you are the South he fell in love with When that young black-haired girl with the Gentile-eyes, Proud, and a Catholic, and with honey-lips, First dinted her French heels upon his heart.⁠ ⁠… We have changed since, but the remembered Spring Can change no more, even in the Autumn smokes. We cannot help that havoc of the heart But my changed mind remembers half the Spring And shall till winter falls. No, Jefferson Davis, You are not she⁠—you are not the warm night