Not the good father wanting for his children, The patriot wanting victory⁠—all the Lees Whom all the world could see and recognize And hang with gilded laurels⁠—but the man Who had, you’d say, all things that life can give Except the last success⁠—and had, for that, Such glamor as can wear sheer triumph out, Proportion’s son and Duty’s eldest sword And the calm mask who⁠—wanted something still, Somewhere, somehow and always. Picklock biographers, What could he want that he had never had?

He only said it once⁠—the marble closed⁠— There was a man enclosed within that image. There was a force that tried Proportion’s rule And died without a legend or a cue To bring it back. The shadow-Lees still live. But the first-person and the singular Lee?