A hundred miles away in an arrow-line Lies the other defended king of the giant chess, Broad-streeted Richmond. All the baggage of war Is here as well, the politicians, the troops, The editors who scream at the government, The slackers, the good and the bad, but the flavor is different: There is something older here, and smaller and courtlier, The trees in the streets are old trees used to living with people, Family-trees that remember your grandfather’s name. It is still a clan-city, a family-city, a city That thinks of the war, on the whole, as a family-matter, A woman city, devoted and fiercely jealous As any of the swan-women who ruled it then⁠— Ready to give their lives and hearts for the South, But already a little galled by Jefferson Davis And finding him rather too much of a doctrinaire With a certain comparative touch of the parvenu. He is not from Virginia, we never knew his grandfather.