Boys who were privates, boys who were majors and captains, Nice old Generals who patted your shoulder, Darling convalescents who called you an angel⁠— A whole, great lucky-bag of nice, thrilling boys, Fighting for you⁠—and the South and the Cause, of course. You were a flame for the Cause. You sang songs about it. You sent white feathers to boys who didn’t enlist And bunches of flowers to boys who were suitably wounded. You wouldn’t dream of making peace with the North While a single boy was left to fight for the Cause And they called you the Dixie Angel. They fought for the Cause But you couldn’t help feeling, too, that they fought for you, And when they died for you⁠—and the Cause and the flag⁠— Your heart was tender enough. You were willing to say You had been engaged to them, even when you hadn’t And answer their mothers’ letters in a sweet way, Though answering letters was hard.