Why have you taken my heart from me? I am not justice nor loyalty. I am the shape of the weathercock, That all winds come to and all winds mock. You are the image of sea-carved stone, The silent thing that can suffer alone, The little women are easier, The easy women make lighter love, I will not take your face to the war, I will not carry your cast-off glove.

Sally Dupré, Sally Dupré, Heart and body like sea-blown spray, I cannot forget you, night or day.

So Wingate pondered in Wingate Hall, And hated and loved in a single breath, As he tried to unriddle the doubtful scrawl Of war and courage and love and death, And then was suddenly nothing but sleep⁠— And tomorrow they marched⁠—to a two-months chasing Of Yankees running away like sheep And peace in time for the Macon racing.