Where one of Lee’s sons worked a gun with the Rockbridge Battery And two were cavalry generals. Praying army, Full of revivals, as full of salty jests, Who debated on God and Darwin and Victor Hugo, Decided that evolution might do for Yankees But that Lee never came from anything with a tail, And called yourselves “Lee’s miserables faintin’ ” When the book came out that tickled your sense of romance, Army of improvisators of peanut-coffee Who baked your bread on a ramrod stuck through the dough, Swore and laughed and despaired and sang “Lorena,” Suffered, died, deserted, fought to the end. Sentimental army, touched by “Lorena,” Touched by all lace-paper-valentines of sentiment, Who wept for the mockingbird on Hallie’s grave When you had better cause to weep for more private griefs, Touched by women and your tradition-idea of them, The old, book-fed, half-queen, half-servant idea, False and true and expiring.